


if we know ourselves to be liars

by theghostofjamespotter



Category: Concept (Band), Curse Workers Series - Holly Black, Only The Young (Band), Stereo Kicks (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Curse Workers Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theghostofjamespotter/pseuds/theghostofjamespotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom wanted Reece to Work for him. His stomach twisted itself into knots. Reece avoided Working. He spent his time studying people and manipulated their emotions the old-fashioned way. Ten minutes alone with Reece Bibby and if he wanted you to cry, you would, and unlike when he Worked, you’d know exactly why you felt that way to begin with. When he was really good, it could even be permanent.</p><p>Working was cheap. Dirty.</p><p>Working for Tom Mann might even be worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we know ourselves to be liars

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been months on months in the making and is the longest, most detailed thing i've written to date. there have been a lot of setbacks (namely, sk breaking up, among other things), but it was really important to me to finish this story.
> 
> i owe so so much of this fic to v, aimmyarrowshigh, and emilie, stillbee (along with a handful of other cheerleaders!!). if it weren't for these two, this fic either wouldn't exist, or would exist in a much shorter and less satisfying manner. thank you so much.
> 
> you don't need a complete understanding of the curseworkers universe to follow this fic! i explained the magic pretty well within the fic, but if you need it broken down further, i've included notes at the end to explain the system of magic as best as i can.
> 
> for the purposes of this fic, since the boys irl have a large age range, i've shifted them into upperclassmen/lowerclassmen. i also shifted reece's sister's age a little bit. the school that they attend is a private school and it's year-round.
> 
> thanks for still reading fic for these boys. i love y'all.

_“We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be. That's why habits are so hard to break. If we know ourselves to be liars, we expect not to tell the truth. If we think of ourselves as honest, we try harder.”  
**― Holly Black, White Cat**_

 

*********

 

The thing about Reece Bibby is this: He’s never needed to touch someone to work their emotions. Of course, it helps, and the results are much more predictable, but Reece, for the most part, keeps his gloves on when he does his work.

The thing about James Graham is this: He’s easily influenced by cute blond boys.

Tom Mann doesn’t care about any of this. He just wants the job done.

 

*********

 

Tom was waiting outside of Reece’s dorm when Reece returned after class. He rounded the corner and saw Tom – leaning against the wall, ankles crossed over each other – and his first instinct was to back away and run in the other direction. Tom had never come to Reece’s dorm before and everything that Reece knew suggested that this was not a good sign.

His second instinct told him that Tom was his friend, or at the very least, friendly with him now. There was the small issue of Barclay, making things a little strained between them, but they tried to maintain a decent friendship despite that.

The effect of both reactions was similar to what would have happened had Reece just run into the wall instead. He stood, rooted to the spot, wind knocked out of his lungs.

Tom noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Reece.” It still felt strange hearing his name from Tom’s mouth, the quiet authority it held.

“Tom,” he nodded.

“You’re getting a new roommate.”

Reece’s eyebrows met in the middle of his face. He’d been rooming with a lad named Mikey. Not one of them, just a kid who wasn’t a Worker, a much needed break for Reece most days. “What happened to –?”

“Pulled a few strings. He should be moved to Davis by now,” Tom smirked.

“Why?”

Tom cocked his head. Heat licked up Reece’s neck and he silently cursed himself. The other boys were much better at doing as they were told, no questions asked. All Reece ever had were questions.

Tom broke his gaze, continuing as if nothing had happened. “Does the surname Jones mean anything to you?”

“Should it?” Again, too obstinate. He cleared his throat and added, “I mean, are they well known?”

“I’ll let you find out for yourself. Do your homework, Bibby-boy.” Tom pushed himself off of the wall. “Or not. Might help your acting, for all I know. His name is Charlie. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

Reece nodded. Seemingly satisfied, Tom moved toward the exit, leaving Reece to fumble with his keys in the lock.

“Oh, and Reece?” Tom said over his shoulder. “We want him.”

 

*********

 

This was how their operation worked: Tom Mann ran the show and the other seven stayed in line. If they kept quiet and did their jobs, the pay-off was worth the blowback. If not…well, Reece didn’t like to think about that.

They were friends, but that came second to the Work.

Tom had never given him an assignment before. As far as Work went, Reece felt that his was probably a little weak in comparison to the others. With what the others did, manipulating people’s emotions seemed highly unnecessary. That, and it held the most risk by leaving a target who would eventually figure out what had been done to them. Emotions Work wasn’t permanent and if left too long, a Worked mark could become dangerous.

Reece was the newest and the youngest member of their group. He was also the most useless.

Except when it came to this Charlie Jones kid, apparently.

His first job was to recruit him. He couldn’t follow Tom’s logic on this. As far as Reece knew, Barclay had always done the recruiting. Hell, Barclay had recruited him only seven months ago.

Reece had gone to the library during free period that day. He was meant to be writing a history essay about the early persecutions of Workers, but mostly he’d made a habit of going to the library to people-watch.

One person in particular, actually.

And that day, Barclay Beales watched him back.

Reece’s palms started sweating under his gloves when the older boy approached him, his stride unexpectedly smooth for someone as broad as Barclay. He moved easily, slid onto the chair next to Reece, leaned in close and whispered, “You’re a Worker.”

Just like that. A statement, not a question. Reece couldn’t find the words to form a dismissal and the accusation hung in the air between them. After a moment, Barclay broke into a grin. “You are. You’re a Worker.”

“How did you –”

“I’ve got a wide net of resources, kid.” He leaned back in his chair, that giant smile still plastered across his face. “And I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Reece sat up a little straighter. “Look, I don’t do charms or anything –”

“This is bigger than a stupid amulet.”

If Barclay hadn’t had his attention before, that would have done it. “Bigger?”

“Much,” Barclay bragged. “Do you know Tom Mann?”

As it stood, they were were the most powerful family in the country. Unofficially, of course. It’s not as though anyone would actively acknowledge that a family of Workers were the _de facto_ government, but Worker or not, everyone knew the Manns. Reece nodded.

“He’d like to keep you, erm… _on hand_ , if you will.” Barclay seemed proud of his own joke and Reece wondered if he’d used that line before. It felt rehearsed.

Tom wanted Reece to Work for him. His stomach twisted itself into knots. Reece avoided Working. He spent his time studying people and manipulated their emotions the old-fashioned way. Ten minutes alone with Reece Bibby and if he wanted you to cry, you would, and unlike when he Worked, you’d know exactly why you felt that way to begin with. When he was really good, it could even be permanent.

Working was cheap. Dirty.

Working for Tom Mann might even be worse.

“He wants to use me?” Reece clarified.

“If you want to call it that.”

Reece looked Barclay straight in the eyes. “And if I say no?”

Barclay laughed at him, and those knots in Reece’s stomach twisted over. “Then this conversation never happened,” Barclay answered, wiggling his gloved fingers.

“Alright, then. When do I start?”

The truth was, Reece joined up with them because he was a little bit in love with Barclay. He knew the same was true for at least three of the other boys. It was a recruitment method that had proven itself to be effective, not to mention that it came with the built in failsafe of Barclay’s memory Work.

Make the kid fall for you, reel him in, and if he says no, make him forget you ever asked. Foolproof and low-risk.

So why was it now Reece’s responsibility to enlist this Charlie kid?

 _Maybe Tom was finally jealous of Barclay’s flirting_ , Reece thought and threw himself onto his bed. His long, thin limbs sprawled across the tiny twin-sized mattress. He stared over at what had been Mikey’s half of the room, the mattress stripped of its bedding, posters pulled from the walls. His heart sank with a longing affection. Mikey was a good guy and Reece hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye.

Just as he thought he might stay in for the night and enjoy the tiny reprieve he’d been given, someone knocked at the door. A small groan of protest rolled through his throat and he closed his eyes, waiting to see if they might just go away.

A second knock came a few moments later.

“Reece?” James called out from the hall. “You here?”

Reece shot up in his bed. James’ voice was distinct, the edges of his words rounded off and a richer, darker tone to it than the other boys. There was no doubt that he was behind the door.

According to bits and pieces of information he’d gleaned from Barclay and Chris, James Graham was the most difficult person in their group to recruit. Reece knew how Barclay had worn James down, though. Even now, every so often, Reece would catch James looking at Barclay the way he used to.

For the most part, James was quiet. He was never the first person to speak up, preferring instead to sit and watch the rest of them and fiddle with his gloves more than a Worker his age should. Reece couldn’t really blame him. It’s not like Reece did much more than watch the others whenever they were all together.

But when James did speak, it was usually something clever and Reece seemed to be the only one of them to ever catch it. He paid attention to James and in return, James started directing his comments to Reece. Sometimes, when it was all of them together, it felt more like it was just the two of them.

“Reece?” James repeated, Reece’s heart pounding at the sound of his name. He leapt up, closing the distance between himself and the door, and paused long enough to take a breath before letting James in.

“You alright?” James asked, moving further into the room and avoiding looking directly at Reece.

“Fine,” Reece said. The door clicked shut. He watched as James took in the empty half of his room. A gloved hand wrapped around the nape of James’ neck, but otherwise he seemed at ease. Comfortable, almost.

“You sure?”

He had to know something. Reece had learned pretty quickly to assume that everyone in their group had more information than they were willing to share. Just the fact that he was here, making a personal visit to Reece’s room without any company, meant something had to be up.

“Why do you ask?”

James sat himself onto the naked bed and motioned for Reece to come sit. He strode over to his own bed, sat himself facing James, and waited. James thought over his words before he spoke. It was something Reece had already noticed, figured maybe James was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He let James take his time.

“Tom’s going to ask you to do something. Recruit –”

“– recruit some kid. I know.” Reece interrupted.

James scrunched his face. “He already asked you?”

“Yeah, he just left.”

James nodded. The sun was setting and it shined in streaks through the blinds and across his face.  The angles of his face were interesting, all sharp cheekbones and defined jawlines, but soft features, rounded eyes and big lips. He looked at Reece, finally, those dark eyes digging into him. “So who is this kid?”

Reece picked at his jeans. “His name is Charlie Jones. Ever heard of him?”

James shook his head.

“Tom made it sound like I should know him,” said Reece.

“Must be from a family of Workers, then.”

“I figured.” Reece put his fingers to his mouth, out of habit, forgetting that his gloves were still on. Reece had always been an anxious nail-biter, sneaking off somewhere to remove his gloves and chew on his fingers in private. He thought of taking his gloves off now, being that it was just James and they were both Workers, but decided against it. He laced his fingers into each other and tried to focus on anything else. “Why do they want me to do it?”

“Beats me.” James stared at Reece’s hands. “I heard Barclay and Tom fighting about it. Seems like Barclay was a bit offended at you getting the job. I thought maybe I could at least warn you.”

“No offense, but your timing is shit, mate.”

“Shut up.” Reece wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he saw the smallest trace of a smile come from James. “Are you nervous?” James asked.

To be honest, Reece hadn’t thought too much about the reality of recruiting someone. He’d been too caught up in Tom’s motives to think about the fact that it was something he was actually going to have to do. He didn’t know how he should feel about it, really, that there’d be a real person living with him that he would have to Work. His skin prickled in gooseflesh.

“Were you? On your first assignment?”

James refused to answer. The silence clung to every part of room, slowly suffocating the small space between them. Reece suddenly wished James had chosen to sit next to him, on his own bed, instead of putting distance between them on an old, empty mattress.

“I was, yeah. Incredibly so.” James eventually answered, his voice soft and tired. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

Reece wasn’t sure what to say to that. “He’ll be here tomorrow. What do I do?”

James let out a breath. “You don’t want to Work him, right?”

“Is that what Tom wants me to do?” Anxiety poured into his veins. Reece had gone seven months without having to Work. He couldn’t see the benefits of doing it now.

“Don’t worry about how Tom wants you to do things. If you don’t want to Work,” he glanced at his own gloved hands knowingly and it occurred to Reece that he didn’t actually know what kind of Work James did, “then don’t. You’ll figure something else out.”

Reece swallowed.

“He’ll be here tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Reece confirmed.

“Get some sleep tonight.” James stood, towering over Reece. He reached his hand out and Reece didn’t pull away, a reflex that had become common as distrust of Workers had spread. He let James ruffle his hair, but held himself back from leaning into the contact. James’ gloved fingers scratched against his scalp and it was nice and, too soon, it was over.

Warmth spread through him as he watched James head for the door. The boy had his fingers wrapped around the handle, when he turned around to face Reece again.

“I used to bite my nails, too,” he said.

Reece hadn’t even realized that James could’ve picked up on that tic. He pressed his palms together between his his thighs, feeling guilty and exposed.

“How’d you stop?” he asked.

James rolled his bottom lip between his teeth before he answered. “I started Working.”

And then he was gone.

 

*********

 

Mornings with Barclay were difficult. Lately, they were increasingly so. But if Barclay himself was struggling with his memory loss, he’d been doing a good job at keeping up appearances.

Tom was the one having difficulties.

He’d started taking to waking up before Barclay. They’d learned the hard way that it was easier if he did.

This had been their room since their first year. They’d met a few summers before that, introduced through their parents, as a lot of young Workers are – at least, Workers of Tom’s standing, anyway. For weeks after that, Tom couldn’t stop thinking about the cow-eyed boy with the broad shoulders and charming smile.

The universe stepped in for him. He walked into his assigned dorm room the day before classes started to find Barclay already unpacked. Tom was so used to Working his way into the things he wanted that having Barclay handed to him on a silver platter felt a little too good to be true.

Some point after they’d made things official between them, they rearranged their room, pushing the two single beds together, in an attempt to end the fight for bed space that Tom, being the smaller of the two, always lost.

A week ago, they’d pulled the beds apart. Mornings were easier, that way.

Tom watched Barclay sleep from across the room. Half of his face was buried into a pillow, his nose peeking out over the edge. He thought Barclay has the perfect nose, all tiny and pointed, and cute as a button, really.

To be fair, he thought the same about every part of Barclay.

It was hard to be happy as a Worker. Sometimes it was hard for Tom to be happy, period. But at least he had Barclay.

It was easier, with Barclay, doing what they did.

As if he sensed that Tom was thinking about him, Barclay shifted around under his sheets. That pulled Tom from his Barclay-driven-haze and straight into morning mode. He sat up, throwing his sheets to the end of his bed. A stack of sticky notes sat on his night stand and Tom scooped them up, along with a pen.

Moving along Barclay’s morning routine, Tom wrote out a series of reminders.

> _Your name is Barclay Beales. You have an incredibly attractive roommate named Tom. Don’t you dare hit the snooze button._

This went on the alarm clock next to Barclay’s bed. Barcs hadn’t actually forgotten his own name yet – at least Tom didn’t think so, but knowing Barclay, he’d probably be too proud to mention it if he had. Best to start writing it out now, while it could still be a joke between them.

Next, Tom went into their bathroom, noticing his notes from the day before already gone. He thought maybe later today, when Barclay’s mind was in a better state, he’d tease him about losing his sight, too. Barclay couldn’t seem to read Tom’s notes without removing them, leaving Tom to replace them daily.  Tom thought he should just use a permanent marker on everything, the way he’d labeled each of Barclay’s dresser drawers.

He wouldn’t, but sometimes he thought he should.

> _Red notebook is your schedule. Blue is your journal._

Tom reached over his head, sticking the note on the bathroom mirror at Barclay’s eye line.

When he came back into the bedroom, Barcs was shifting around again. Knowing he’d wake up soon, Tom scrawled out his last note, stuck it on top of Barclay’s journals, and crawled back into his bed, picking his blanket up from the foot of the bed and covering himself with it. He didn’t need the extra time in bed, but it was best to give Barcs his space until he pieced together his fragmented thoughts.

Barclay’s alarm went off a few minutes later. Tom feigned half-sleep, waiting until he heard the water running in the bathroom before he allowed himself to get up again.

He tidied up his bed a bit and dug around until he found a matching pair of gloves. Red leather. He had just managed to change into a tee shirt and jeans when Barclay reemerged from the bathroom.

Barc’s hair was dripping water down his face, but that was the second thing Tom noticed.

The first was that Barclay was only wearing a towel. Although, _wearing_ was a rather loose way to describe how carelessly Barclay had draped the towel around his hips, the entirety of one thigh exposed where the ends of the towel failed to meet.

“Morning,” Tom said hesitantly.

Barclay studied Tom for a moment too long.

“You’re Tom?” he asked.

His heart crashed into his stomach as he stared back into Barclay’s vacant face.

Tom had been Worked once, a few years before. One of his classmates, a tall quiet kid named Ben, was an Emotions Worker. Tom’s parents insisted on him befriending Ben and he did so without question. He was part of their group before there was much of a group to be spoken of, when it was just Tom and Barclay and Ben, with orders coming from Tom’s parents every so often. Ben struggled for a long time with what they did, couldn’t work through his blowback and couldn’t consolidate the parts of him that had Worked with the parts of him that didn’t want to and it wore on him until he broke.

When he Worked Tom, it was like his blood pumped into his heart frozen and pumped out boiling. He carried around a scream building up in his lungs for months.

Only a few hours after Tom had been Worked, they found Ben. He’d had thrown himself off the top floor of the library, right in the middle of campus. There was a letter he’d written and left for Tom. After the investigation into his death had been officially ruled a suicide and closed, the police turned it over to him.

He’d just wanted someone to share his sadness. That’s all it said.

Tom burned the letter.

It wasn’t like Tom hadn’t imagined what it would be like when Barclay finally started forgetting him, but he never imagined it’d feel worse than when Ben shoved all of his sadness into him at once. He didn’t think it’d hurt this much.

“Nah, you can’t be Tom,” Barclay broke the silence between them. “The note said he’d be attractive.”

Slowly, Barclay’s face came to life, lips parting to form a smile.

Relief didn’t even come close to covering what Tom was feeling.

“You _dick_.”

Barclay tilted his head back and laughed. “Had you going, didn’t I?”

Tom’s lungs ached from holding his breath. He wanted to be mad at him, but Barcs was naked and wet and smiling at him with those mischievous eyes and while all of that was charming, Tom mostly just wanted this part of their day to be over with.

“Yeah, whatever. You’ve got one more note, you wanker.”

“Where’s that, then?”

“On your notebooks.”

Genuine confusion rolled over Barclay’s face. He scanned his side of the room and anxiety bubbled in Tom’s chest.

“On top of your dresser,” he offered, a twinge of sadness in his voice that he hoped Barclay didn’t notice. He moved closer to Barcs, who wordlessly crossed to his dresser, pulling the note from his journals.

“ _You love Tom_ ,” Barclay read aloud.

Tom nuzzled into the crook of Barclay’s neck, not minding the remnants of Barclay’s shower falling steadily onto his face.

“Keep reading,” he instructed and Barclay followed orders.

“ _And he loves you_.” Barclay grinned. “Bit cheesy, innit?”

“Remember?” Tom asked between kisses to Barclay’s jaw.

“I think so.” Barclay’s voice lowered an octave. “I could use a reminder.”

The towel dropped and Tom thought that as long as Barclay remembered this, they could be fine. He could be fine.

Happy, even.

 

*********

 

Charlie Jones arrived at 5:49 the next morning.

He was… _bigger_ than Reece had imagined. When Tom had said they were in the same year, Reece imagined a kid, small and scrawny like he was, still trying to grow into his own body. But everything about this kid was proportioned like someone closer to Barclay or Tom’s age.

Except his face. He had a bit of a baby face, Reece supposed.

He started unpacking before Reece had even gotten out of bed.

“Sorry,” he said, barely glancing at Reece while he continued to unload bags of clothes in the tiny dorm dressers.

“’S fine,” Reece mumbled. “I love getting up – _Christ_ – before six am on a Saturday.”

Charlie didn’t reply, so Reece took the opportunity to study his new roommate.

He wore his hair pushed back, the way the older boys in the group often did. Though Reece had never said the thought aloud, he thought James had perfected the style by shaving down the sides and wearing the top long (even if he did happen to shave the sides not long after Barclay had done the same). Charlie’s was barely shorter on the sides than on the top. At the front of his quiff a few strands of hair appeared faded – white, almost, like the color had been pulled from them entirely.

That was weird. Not unfashionable, but a bit weird. Then again, that probably didn’t mean much coming from the boy who regularly bleached half of his head.

“Do you need help?” Reece offered, despite the fact that he was naked aside from a pair of shorts that he had slept in.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Charlie said.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

They didn’t say anything else to each other.

 

*********

 

James met him for dinner. He suggested eating outside, taking advantage of the few warm days they had left before fall came out in full force. Reece didn’t object. His day with Charlie had left him feeling a little claustrophobic. Yet, when James took a seat next to him, instead of across, Reece felt like he could breathe better.

“So what’s your read on the new guy?” James dug in right away.

“That’s the thing, I can’t read him. He’s just this giant…statue, and I can’t get a read on him and I don’t even know why Tom is making me do this, anyway.” Reece picked at his food, not really eating anything.

“Did you look him up last night?”

Reece shook his head. “I figured it’d be easier to convince him if I didn’t look like I knew anything. I’d seem more natural or something.”

“Have you figured out if he’s a Worker?” James prodded, a gentleness to his succession of questions that Reece didn’t have satisfying answers for.

“If who’s a Worker?” a voice called out (a bit too loudly, given the topic of discussion) from behind them. They both turned to face Casey, grin plastered to his face. “We getting a new member?”

Casey was part of their group, but he wasn’t a Worker. In fact, he was the only one of them who wasn’t. But Casey had connections, and good ones, at that. He mostly kept tabs on the English family, reporting back to Tom if anything interesting happened. It almost never did.

Still, if you needed information, Casey was a good guy to have around. Even if he was a bit loud.

“Eventually,” James answered him, and Reece appreciated the vagueness of his reply.

“Barclay working on someone, then?”

James scrunched his lips to the side and looked over at Reece. _For approval_ , Reece realized, as he pushed aside the urge to latch onto James’ hand and squeeze.

“I am.” Reece willed a steadiness into his voice that wouldn’t come naturally.

Casey’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting. And you don’t know if he’s a Worker?”

“He’s got to be, if Tom wants him –”

Casey cut off James. “Not necessarily,” he said, waving his fingers next to his face.

James laughed. “Tom didn’t want you, you just showed up and wouldn’t go away.”

“That’s not true!” Casey looked put out, puffing his bottom lip at James. James responded by throwing a chip at him.

“So he could be a Worker or he might be another Casey, but it’d be great if someone would’ve given me a heads up either way.” Reece said over the impending food fight.

“What about blowback?” Casey asked, deciding his food was better being eaten and not thrown at James, and shoving half of a sandwich into his mouth. “D’ja look for signs?”

Blowback was the Worker’s curse. Using their magic hit them back, often twice as hard. Everyone experienced it differently, but for some, it showed itself physically. Workers littered in scars had the hardest time hiding what they were, but Reece figured marking up his skin would be better than losing his mind. The grass is always greener, anyway.

“Like that means anything anymore.” James countered.

He had a point. Even visual blowback could be altered. Jake, for example, had patches of his skin turn black after he did transformation Work. He covered them with tattoos, mostly, to avoid suspicion.

“You should know that,” James added, speaking directly to Casey. Being the only non-Worker in their group was bound to cause some insecurity. Around the time Reece joined, Casey started bleaching the front section of his hair white, so that it looked like blowback. It scared a lot of people on campus, especially after rumors spread that he had Worked someone over the holiday. Reece mostly just found it distasteful.

Something clicked in Reece’s brain.

He stood up, nearly falling over trying to get out from the picnic table. “Casey, you’re brilliant! I could kiss you!”

“Yeah…save that for James, maybe. Wait, why am I brilliant?”

Reece’s ears burned red at the mention of kissing James, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Casey was always making dumb jokes, trying to push Reece’s buttons. This time, Reece could let it slide.

“I’ll tell you if it’s turns out that I’m right.” And he took off, headed back toward his dorm.

 

*********

 

By the time he reached his door, Reece was out of breath and heaving pretty noticeably. He fell back into the adjoining hall, giving himself a minute to regulate his breathing and figure out where to go from here. He’d gotten so caught up with the new lead that he hadn’t really stopped to think about how he was going to actually approach Charlie.

Charlie was a Worker. He was sure of it.

But should he come out and say it? Should he act like he knew less than he did?

Reece knew who would have the answer. Someone who apparently wasn’t all too happy with him at the moment.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, thumbing the screen until he was calling Barclay.

“Barcs?” he half-whispered into the receiver when the line clicked over.

“Reece?” Barclay half-shouted back, and Reece cringed, hastily turning down the volume on his phone and glancing over the halls for eavesdroppers. “Why’re you whispering?”

“Because I don’t want people to overhear me, obviously.” Reece double-checked the hallways. Empty. “Are you with Tom?”

“No. Why would I be with Tom?” Barclay asked, and it was difficult to tell over the phone, but he seemed confused by the assumption.

 _Because the two of you have been attached at the hip and god-knows-where-else since I’ve known you?_ Reece thought. He held his tongue, figuring that might be a bit off-topic.

“Never mind. Do you know what Tom wants me to do?”

“The thing with that new kid? Yeah.”

Reece ignored the slight resentment in Barclay’s voice. “I need your help.”

“Well, at least you’re coming to the expert.” Barclay laughed on the other line and Reece couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“Look, I know that he’s a Worker. But do I act like I know that, or should I just pretend I don’t?”

Barclay paused, legitimately thinking it over (at least, Reece hoped that’s what he was doing). “It could go bad either way – either you know too much and it freaks him out or you act like you don’t know and he never tells you.”

“Thanks for the inspiring speech, Barcs,” Reece said, rolling his eyes.

“Just be confident about it either way. Remember when I pulled you in?”

Reece swallowed, pressing his phone into his cheek. “Yeah. Of course.” _Of course he remembered, doe-eyed baby Reece, too love-sick to say no, and big, stupid Barclay, rubbing it in._

“Well, here’s a secret: I didn’t actually know you were a Worker.”

“You – wait, _what?_ ”

Barclay laughed again and the sound grinded in Reece’s ears. “Aren’t you the one who always Works the old fashioned way?”

“Yeah, but that  – that’s different.” Reece stumbled over his words. “That’s for like, making people forget why they’re mad at me or when I want something from them. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

“You do want something. Charlie. Like I said: Be confident.” It’s all Barclay offered before the line died in Reece’s hand.

 _Great._ He took a few breaths, calming himself. This whole thing would be easier if Tom weren’t so god damn cryptic about what he wanted from Reece. He hadn’t realized exactly how frustrated he was about that until he said it to Barclay, but Reece hated not knowing what he supposed to be doing. It’s not like there was any kind of instruction manual for being a Worker, either.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, shook out his arms, and went back to his room.

Charlie was lying on his bed, just recently made up with sheets that had seen better days, writing in a spiral bound notebook. If he cared about Reece coming back to their room, he didn’t show it, keeping his head low and eyes trained on his writing.

 _Confidence_ , Barclay’s voice reminded Reece, willing him across the room, to the edge of his bed, where he sat, elbows propped onto his knees, facing Charlie.

“I know what you are,” Reece said, his voice sounding surer than he felt.

Charlie kept writing.

 _Confidence_ , Reece echoed mentally, and he pressed on. “You’re a Worker.”

Charlie’s pen drooped, his hand suddenly slack. He still didn’t look at Reece, but Reece kept his eyes on the other boy, waiting.

“How did you know?” Charlie asked.

“The hair.” Reece looked up at Charlie’s quiff, seeing now that those few hairs weren’t white, but colorless, like they’d be drained of color. “You don’t get hair like that from a box kit. That’s blowback.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it, but that in itself served as a confirmation. Reece’s confidence bloomed in his chest. He could get this boy for Tom. He was going to do this, without Working. Tom would be proud of him, Barclay would be proud, and he could do this.

“What do you want from me?” The words sounded as though they were probably familiar in Charlie’s mouth. He looked at Reece now, his eyes a bright blue that was slightly unnerving, the rims of them slick.

“I want you to meet a friend of mine. His name is Tom Mann.”

Those were the wrong words to say.

He wasn’t sure how it had happened, how this beast of a boy across from him had moved so quickly, but Charlie was up and he was tearing toward the door. The fresh confidence in Reece wilted and he was lost.

“W-w-wait!” he called out, but Charlie had already thrown on a jacket and shoes, seconds away from leaving.

“You have no idea what I am,” Charlie spat at him and Reece noticed that his eyes were overflowing. “No idea. Or you’d have never said that name in front of me.”

The door slammed against the frame, bouncing off it just to slam against the wall. The momentum slowed and it eventually clicked shut.

Reece had failed his first assignment.

 

*********

 

Betsy Blue English was a Worker. Casey knew this from Tom’s file on her, a literal physical folder slipped under his door eleven months prior and filled with information on the clever ( _and pretty_ , he noted, as the file included photographs) blonde, dating back to her childhood. There was little about Betsy that Casey didn’t already know.

The problem was that Betsy still hadn’t told him most of it.

Luckily, Casey hadn’t slipped up yet. He was careful, never saying too much and letting Betsy take the lead, hoping that eventually she’d tell him what he already knew. But lying was getting to be exhausting.

Of course, there were things Betsy didn’t know about Casey, either. Like the fact that he was spying on her for Tom, for example.

Casey hated thinking of it that way. He never had anything of interest to report back to Tom, so if it was technically spying, he wasn’t doing a very good job at it.

And then there was the fact that Betsy had kissed him two months ago. It felt a lot less like spying after that.

The Englishes lived close to campus, though Betsy attended a sister school on the other side of town. She spent most weekends at home and they had a standing Saturday night date.

To which, Casey was twelve minutes late.

He braced himself for Betsy’s disapproval, reaching up to knock on her door, but before he made contact, the door flew open in front of him. Betsy stood inside and the look on her face wasn’t disappointment. It was something else entirely and it wasn’t good.

“I’m sorry –” Casey started.

“Upstairs. Now.” Betsy ushered him into the foyer, hand pressed firmly against the small of his back as she led him to the stairs.

“Hey.” Casey stopped halfway up the stairs and looked back at Betsy. “Are you okay?”

The concern fell from her face for a split second as she looked up at Casey. She reached for his hand and squeezed it once. “Not here, okay?”

It didn’t do much to quell his nerves, but Casey trusted Betsy. So he climbed the stairs, turning at the landing to go to her bedroom.

“Not that way,” Betsy said, pulling him in the other direction, down the hall and then taking a left to a different wing.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Casey asked, but she didn’t answer. She opened a door to their right, popped her head in, and then tugged Casey into the room behind her.

“Shut the door.”

The room she’d chosen was simple. An office, Casey guessed, though one that must’ve been a spare. It hardly felt lived in, lacking photos on the walls or anything atop the large antique desk that would suggest it had ever been used.

“This was a guest office,” Betsy explained, noting Casey’s observation. “It hasn’t been used in years. We’re safe to talk here.”

“Safe? What does that mean?” Guilt flooded Casey. He was used to being the one holding secrets. “Bets, what’s going on?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Another thought hit Casey.

“And what the hell is a ‘guest office?’” he added.

She laughed at that and Casey relaxed. Not much, but it was something.

“The work my mother used to do…her clients and partners and what have you…they needed their own space. To close deals, mostly.” She looked around the room. “So they did it here. I don’t think it’s bugged anymore. Or if it is, no one is listening. Like I said, no one has used this room in ages.”

“Bugged? Wait – does that mean – _is your room bugged?_ ” There were two things that could potentially result in Casey’s death if Allison English knew about them, and he was fairly certain what happened in Betsy’s bedroom was one of those things.

“I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure.” Betsy chewed on the inside of her cheek, hollowing out one side of her face.

He moved closer to her, held onto both of her hands. His hands stuck with sweat to the inside of his gloves. “Please. What’s going on?”

“Casey.” She paused. “My parents aren’t good people.”

Her words came out thick with a seriousness Casey had never heard come from her before.

“Your bedroom is potentially bugged, I think we might’ve established that,” he teased, but her expression was unchanged.

“I mean it. They’re in some shady stuff right now.”

“Like what?” She didn’t answer. “Betsy, what does your parents’ business have to do with you?”

Betsy was frightened. Her hands shook underneath his and he thought if he let go, she might crumble into bits.

The thing was, he knew what she was trying to tell him. Part of it, anyway. And he finally had a chance to let go of that secret.

“You’re a Worker,” he said, lessening the burden for her.

She didn’t deny it. “How did you know?”

Casey slipped his fingers between hers, her gloves bright white against his black ones. “They have your whole house bugged and are involved with ‘shady business.’ It was either Working or black market organs.”

There was a method to what he was doing. Casey figured out a long time ago that if he eased his way into a lie, it felt a lot less like lying. Two truths and a lie and statistically, what he said was less lie than truth.

For example: truth number one, Betsy was a Worker. Truth number two, her parents bugged the house. The lie went unsaid, that he had pieced it all together in that moment.

More truths than lies. And Betsy bought it.

“Does that scare you?” She tightened her hand around his, adding, “Do I scare you?”

“No. Never.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and held her there.

“They want me to Work someone, Casey.”

Until that moment, Casey hadn’t thought about the reality of Betsy being a Worker. There was Betsy Blue English, the Worker girl from the file and there was Betsy, his girlfriend. In some ways, it seemed like all they’d shared before then was a name. But they were the same girl and Casey was dating them both.

Pulse rising, he asked, “Who?”

“Do you know Tom Mann?”

 

*********

 

Hunting down Tom was easier than it should have been.

There was a common area in the older boys’ dormitory that they’d laid claim to at the start of last term. People learned fairly quickly to leave them alone and now it’d been months since anyone outside of their group had been in the room, aside from the cleaning crew (and even that was only allowed while they were sleeping, after curfew hit). Tom Mann, child of the two most well-known underground-magic-mafia leaders, conducted business in the common area of his dormitory.

At least they were imposing enough to not be disturbed. Or, the older boys were.

Though right now, Reece might have been scarier than all of them combined, because Reece Bibby was out for blood.

The other boys – save for Casey, who spent his weekends getting intel on the Englishes – were already there, occupying their usual spaces. James was lounging sideways in an oversized chair. Chris and Jake sprawled over each other on a sofa. Across from them, Barclay lay on an identical sofa, his head resting on Tom’s lap.

Tom and Barclay both looked up at Reece. He didn’t give them enough time for a greeting.

“What the _fuck_ are you trying to do?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw James shift in his chair, sitting himself upright. Tom and Barclay didn’t move at all.

“Excuse me?” Tom asked back.

“What are you playing at? Are you trying to get me to screw up on purpose, or do you just think it’s funny?”

“I take it something happened?” Tom asked, again unfazed.

“Yeah, something happened, you prick! You sent me to recruit a kid who is disgusted at just the mention of your name and didn’t think that the fact that he hates you was important information for me to know.” Reece was on a roll now. Words flew from his mouth, hot and fueled with the venom in his spit. “So why? Just for kicks? Did you think it’d be fun to watch me fail?”

“Or maybe I thought you’d been coasting for six months and that it’s time you actually did something for me.” Tom’s voice was too even, too calm, and it made Reece want to rip his tongue out from his mouth.

“Or maybe you found out about how Barclay recruited me. How I had a crush on him and he used that to get to me.” Barclay sat up at the mention of his name and Reece could feel the stares of the boys behind him burning into his back. “Thought you’d pay me back for daring to think your boyfriend was attractive? Well, guess what –”

He could sense James next to him, though he hadn’t watched him get up.

“–half of the people in this room want to fuck your boyfriend! So if you’re doling out punishment for it, you’ve got more work to do.”

“Reece.” James’ voice in his ear, the quietness of it almost overwhelming compared to the shouting Reece had been doing. He cupped Reece’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

Reece pulled his arm away from James, the back of his hand hitting James right under his ribs.

He leaned forward, inches from Tom’s face, breathing in his air. “Are you setting me up?”

Tom scoffed. “Pull your weight.”

“Fuck you.”

And then he was out through the door, in the hallway, outside of the dorm. He pulled in huge gulps of air, hiccoughing until he thought his lungs would forces themselves out through his throat.

And James was there, and he must’ve been calling out to Reece, and all Reece heard was the retching of his coughs and a ringing in his ears. James held his face, leveled with him, and started taking long, deep breathes. Eventually Reece matched him, his breathing slowed, and the world came back into focus.

“I just – I can’t – _fucking Tom_ and –” he couldn’t get the words straight and everything he tried jumbled together in his mouth.

James let go of his face, opening his arms a bit wider. “Come here?” A question, a proper question, as though there was anything else Reece could want more in that moment, as though he’d choose that something else if he could. He chose James, fell into him, and let himself be held there like that. James wrapped around him, his mouth pressed against the side of Reece’s head and he wasn’t kissing him, not really, but the movement of his lips on Reece’s skin, the coolness of his breath, calmed Reece the way a kiss might have.

A moment passed like that, just James, the wind, and Reece’s cautiously slowing heartbeat.

“I hit you,” he remembered, horrified.

“’S alright,” James said, and Reece believed him, though it didn’t make him feel any better. “It was only a tap, really.”

“But I _hit_ you.”

“You did.”

This was worse than Working. He was shaking under James’ arms. “I’m sorry,” he said and he meant it, needed James to see that he meant it, that it was truly an accident. The buzzing in his ears came back, with choruses of _Tell him, Tell him_ on repeat.

He pulled away from James and immediately regretted it. James’ face fell for a moment, a half of a half second, but Reece saw. He felt exposed, but he knew he’d want to be the one to pull away first, rather than feel James’ disgust that was sure to come.

“It’s blowback.” The burning behind his eyes flickered and he pressed them shut, tried to get himself under control. “What just happened – the way I acted – it’s blowback.”

“Blowback?” James repeated the word back to Reece, the look on his face mirroring the one he’d worn when he told Reece about Tom’s plans for him. “I thought you’d never Worked?”

“I don’t Work.” A pause. “I never said I hadn’t.”

“Emotions Worker.” James said, mostly to himself as he pieced things together.

“Makes me lose control of my own emotions.” Reece explained.

“Reece,” James said hesitantly, “You _exploded_ in there.”

“I know.” He could still feel the  burn under his skin, the obsessive, consuming ire that was always settled somewhere in the back of his skull. “I just. I confronted Charlie and he flipped out and I couldn’t stop thinking about why Tom was having me do this and I...I don’t know. I lost it.”

“How many times have you Worked?” James’ eyes were completely round, eyebrows arched into his forehead creases, and his plump bottom lip wavered. He looked well scared.

_Of me, or for me?_

“Just the once, but…it was bad.” Reece told him the truth, though he doubted it was comforting. Blowback only gets worse. There is no cure.

“How bad?” No one had ever asked Reece questions like this. Not Barclay, not Tom, not any of the boys. The way this conversation usually played out was “Have you Worked before?” and ended with a “Yes” or maybe just a nod, depending on Reece’s mood and everyone moved on. To keep talking about it was beginning to feel like too much.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he answered and James’ face relaxed. He nodded, and he understood. Reece hoped he did.

“C’mon.” James said, this time an instruction, followed up by James wrapping his arm around Reece’s, slipping his long fingers into the spaces between his own. Reece’s palms started sweating under the leather. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

 

*********

 

The silence in the room was overwhelming. It was strange and off-putting in a way Tom couldn’t really describe. He just wanted someone to say something, anything at all, and break the silence left in James- and Reeces’s wake.

He looked over to Chris and Jake and knew it wouldn’t come from either of them. They were waiting on him. They were...afraid? Maybe? They were feeling something about him and he wasn’t sure exactly what that something was, but it was distinctly not good.

His ears started buzzing in the silence.

“Tom.” Barclay’s voice rattled next to him. He blinked.

“Yes?”

“Your phone.”

His phone sat face up in his lap, blinking with his father’s face. Out of everything that could’ve happened just then, this was probably number one on the list of things that weren’t going to help.

“I have to take this,” he said to no one in particular as he left.

Out of earshot, he tapped the screen to answer, but wait a moment before saying anything. He needed to steel his nerves or his father would know something was off.

When Ben Selley launched himself from the tallest building he could find, Stephen Mann didn’t blame his son. “Some people can’t handle what we do, Tomas,” he said when they lowered Ben’s body into the ground. “You have to be better than that. Better than them.”

Ben’s hatred brewed under Tom’s skin.

“Someday soon, I’ll be asking a lot of you. You can’t be this weak.” His words were clipped, but he made no effort to cover the undertones of disgust.

“I won’t be.” It’s a promise made in the wake of being Worked by a suicidal Emotions Worker, but it’s a promise nonetheless and Stephen Mann holds him to it.

“Tom?” His father’s voice broke through his thoughts. He’d waited too long.

“Dad.” _Shit_. “Hi.”

“Where are you?” His father was always this direct, adopting a level of professionalism with Tom that abandoned any social cues of a father-son relationship.

“The common room. With the guys.”

Tom could practically feel his father nodding through the phone. “Any updates?”

“Casey is out with Betsy right now. I’ll get an update from him tomorrow.”

“And the Jones boy?”

Tom paused. “Nothing to update on.”

“Is Barclay taking his time?”

“Barclay is...” Tom mulled the lie over in his head. “He’s having a hard time getting close,” is what he settled on.

“He just has to get close enough to touch him.” It was meant to be a joke, but from Stephen Mann’s voice, it came out like an order.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me know when there’s progress.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

*********

 

Reece couldn’t remember the walk to James’ room, but he remembered James’ hand and how sturdy it felt in his. He remembered stumbling over his own feet a bit and James hanging onto him, holding him up. He remembered James waiting until the absolute last moment to let go of his hand, apologizing for needing both hands to unlock the door.

He remembered thinking over and over how grateful he was for James just then.

He remembered how none of this felt strange, even in the slightest.

“Will your roommate mind?” he asked James, who was busy sliding his room key back into his pocket.

“Don’t have one.” James answered, holding the door open for Reece.

James’ room wasn’t messy, exactly, but he wasn’t much for picking up after himself, either. Piles of clothes scattered across the floor like landmines and Reece hoped that James at least knew which ones were clean. There was a desk, its only occupants being a laptop and a small lamp. A single bed was pushed into the corner opposite the desk, covers clearly slept in.

Reece looked around the room, taking it all in. “How’d you get out of having a roommate?”

“Tom pulled a few favors in for me,” James shrugged.

“Lucky,” Reece said and didn’t bother hiding his jealousy. Tom pulled strings for James and James got to live alone. Tom pulled strings for Reece and he ended up with a roommate who hated him. James came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Reece’s shoulders.

“Are you okay with staying here tonight?” James asked against Reece’s cheek.

“Well, it’s this or sleeping in my room with one eye open.”

“Fair enough. Need something to sleep in?”

Reece nodded his head, feeling very abruptly as though he’d used up his voice earlier. James slipped away from him and pulled a pair of flannel pants from the top of stack of laundry at the end of his bed.

“Don’t worry, those ones are clean,” he promised with a triangle smirk. He dug around for a moment and released a second pair from the bottom of the pile. “These ones are not.”

James pulled his shirt over his head and Reece was incredibly conscious of every motion. James was changing clothes in front of him. He was going to have to change clothes in front of James.

As if he had read Reece’s mind, James turned away slightly, enough to give Reece both a sense of privacy and a decent view of James’ bum.

Not that he was looking, but it was a pretty nice bum.

He tugged his pants down past his knees, stepped out of them and immediately into James’ pajama bottoms. They fit surprisingly well. Reece hadn’t thought about it before, but James preferred looser fitting tops and big jackets and they hid how small around he was. In reality, James and Reece were fairly similar in size – which is to say that they were both fairly scrawny. The biggest difference was only a couple of inches in height that James had on Reece.

Reece finished redressing and turned around. James had kept his shirt off, standing there in just bottoms and his gloves.

“Do you sleep with those on?” he asked, tilting his head toward James’ hands.

James scrunched his face. “Yeah, actually, I do. Don’t you?”

“No, not usually.” Reece shook his head. “Do you…” He paused, afraid of the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Do you want me to keep them on?”

James strode over and held up Reece’s right hand with both of his own. Finger by finger, he tugged on the glove until it came off. He studied Reece’s naked palm for a moment, then pulled it forward, and held it tight against his face. Reece’s thumb flicked over James’ cheekbone, his pinky curled under the other boy’s jaw. The contact was like an explosion in every part of him, the foreign feeling of flesh that wasn’t his own, electric and hot, and if he hadn’t been so shocked by the move, Reece might have kissed him just then.

“I trust you.” James said and it was as simple as that. He let go of Reece’s hand, but Reece held it in place, tracing the curves of James’ face with the pad of his thumb.

“Thank you,” Reece answered. James’ trust was a gift and he accepted it wholly by removing his other glove.

He hadn’t touched anyone in years. His right hand was heavy, weighted down with blood rush. Small pinpricks raced across it, tingling reminders of a sensation he hoped he’d never forget. James’ face was flushed, redder on the one side and Reece really wished he would have kissed him, a thank you gesture for giving Reece something so intimate.

He would, he decided just then. He would kiss him.

He started by reaching out and holding both of James’ hands in his. It was strange to have James’ leather clad fingers locked between his naked ones, but it made something tug in Reece’s navel.

It occurred to Reece that he could Work James just then. In the traditional sense, sure, it’d be easy. But he didn’t need to. James had given him enough to Work with. He knew that James was on the verge of something here that was unfamiliar to him, that he hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time. He knew that he could make James trust him and that once he did, he could make James fall in love with him, if he wanted. A few lies, a couple half-truths, those God-given Bibby dimples, and James would lap up every word that came from Reece.

Working James would be so easy and Reece hated that James had opened himself up for it. More than that, he hated himself for thinking it.

“I trust you, too.” he said, cringing internally because it sounded so much like something he’d say to a mark, to someone he wanted to Work.

He didn’t want to Work James. He wanted James to like him, but he didn’t want to Work him. It was just the only way he knew how to make that happen with anyone.

He tried to just focus on James. Not his words, not James’ words, just the half-naked, skinny boy standing in front of him. Reece lifted both of their palms between their chests. He leaned into James’ gloved hands.

“I trust you,” he repeated and this time it came out like the times his mother had made him go to confession. _Forgive me Father, for I have Worked and I have put my trust in a Worker._

James’ hands dropped away from his.

“I’m sorry, Reece, I can’t…I can’t take mine off.”

The fire that lingered in Reece’s blood threatened to boil. He took a long breath in, willing himself to stay calm. _It’s just blowback_ , he reminded himself, _you’re not mad, you’re not mad, just stay calm because you’re not mad, you’re just hurt. Confused._

“Afraid you’re gonna Work me?” Reece joked, an unfortunate seriousness behind his words.

“Yes,” James answered honestly. “Reece…do you know what kind of Work I do?”

“No.” Reece didn’t press for an answer, though his instincts were fighting against his silence.

James’ giant puppy-dog eyes flitted away from Reece’s gaze. Several seconds passed and James stared at his hand, running his palms over each other the way he did when the group was together and he thought no one was looking. Taking in a deep breath, he gathered the fingertips of his left hand glove and pulled it off in one gentle tug.

His hand was black, like it’d been dipped in ink, flame patterns dancing around his wrist. His hand was dying.

“I’m a Death Worker, Reece,” he said, almost a whisper, and looked up at him expectantly.

Reece could hardly process it.  “You stopped biting your nails,” he said stupidly.

“Reece…”

“You’ve Worked.”  _Death Worker_ echoed between his ears.

“ _Reece_.”

There was the blowback, right in front of him, proof that James had Worked, proof that James was a death Worker. James. James that held his naked hands and wasn’t afraid of him. James that had just talked him through a full-fledged panic attack. _James._ Sweet, quiet, lovely, James, his hands stained with demise.

Reece’s thoughts were fighting each other over this information and Reece did the only thing that made sense to him.

He reached for James’ hand.

James flinched, but slowly his fingers relaxed against Reece’s. The skin was rough, drier than Reece imagined skin could be, and it was as cold as ice. He held it between his hands and he wondered if James could feel the sparks of their uncovered hands consuming each other.  The most taboo pieces of themselves pressed together like dried flowers between the pages of a book and Reece thought that nothing in his life had ever been this exciting.

“This doesn’t change anything.” Reece said, running his fingers through every knuckle valley, trying to memorize the geography of James’ hands.

“You’re not scared?” James’ voice spilled over with fear.

“I trust you.” Reece told him.

“I trust you.” James said back, believing.

Their hands wandered beyond each other’s; first a graze of the wrist and then a stray finger ran up and down a forearm and suddenly they were touching each other everywhere there was exposed skin. This was like nothing Reece had ever done before. Each new part of James made him shiver and he imprinted the other boy with his fingertips, built a new flesh memory with each touch. He didn’t flinch when James reached out with a darkened hand and cupped Reece’s face. He leaned into the touch unashamedly, buried his cheek into James’ hand, and pushed his lips against the dry, cool skin. James let out the tiniest moan in response.

He had to let James be the one to kiss him first.

He wanted to kiss James, _god_ did he ever want to, but he knew better. If he made the first move when James was this vulnerable, it be just like Working him. He’d be taking advantage of an emotional state.

So he let James make the first move.

James took his time. It was maddeningly frustrating, having James’ hands on his face, his neck, his chest and to not be kissing him. He was practically squirming under James’ touch now and James had to know what Reece wanted. He thought he’d have to be the one to do it, that morals be damned, he couldn’t take it any longer and he was going to kiss James right on his big, goofy mouth if he kept this up –

And James stopped touching him. Reece’s hands – one had been on James’ neck, the other on his side – were suspended in midair, James a few inches away from them.

“We should, erm…I mean, d’you wanna…” he gestured helplessly toward the bed and Reece fought back the urge to laugh.

“Yeah,” he answered, and everything in James brightened. His eyes were bright and wide and Reece could have sworn they had only ever been dark before. James made his way to the light switch and waited until Reece was under the covers before turning off the lights.

He fumbled his way to Reece in the near pitch-black, climbing into bed and facing him. The smallest bit of light came through the window and Reece let his eyes adjust, recovering with the image of James’ face. An arm closed around him, settling on the lowest part of his back.

“Alright?” James asked, his hot breath rolling over Reece’s face.

“Mhm,” Reece hummed and he settled in against the other boy. Their noses touched and Reece knew that James was going to do it, was finally going to kiss him, and, without warning, guilt burrowed out from Reece’s gut.

James had given him something wonderful and personal and Reece knew from the moment James showed his hands that he had never done that before. He let Reece touch him, a palmers’ kiss, and Reece ached to give him something in return. Something that meant as much.

“James.”

“Mhm?”

“I have to tell you something.”

James’ face retreated, just a couple of inches, but it felt like miles to Reece. He couldn’t make out the details of James’ face in the dark, but he could see enough to know that James was listening intently. He didn’t say anything, just let Reece take his time to find the words he needed.

“I told you I only Worked once,” he started.

“You said it was bad,” James remembered.

“It was.” Reece’s chest tightened around his lungs. “It was my sister.”

A moment passed. “What happened?”

James’ thumb brushed back and forth on Reece’s spine and Reece tried his best to focus on that, to breathe in time with James’ touch. His thoughts sharpened.

“It was just one of those stupid sibling fights. She stole a toy from my room and it got broken, and I was mad at her, like it was the worst thing in the world. We were kids.” He remembered Lexi, her bottom lip trembling and showing off the gap between her front teeth, as she presented him with the pieces of his brand new action figure, gripped tight in her chubby fists. “It was like, I wanted to make her hurt, so I grabbed her and I said some stuff…told her I hated her…and all of a sudden, she’s screaming back at me and hitting me and our mum had to come pull her off of me.”

“How long did it last?”

“Six months.” Six months of his beloved baby sister glaring at him across the dinner table until he excused himself out of shame. “But she wasn’t the same, after. I Worked her so she hated me and then she hated me because I Worked her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His thumb stopped moving and he tightened his arm around Reece. “Most of us…the first time is an accident.”

“She’s my sister, James. And she hates me.”

“I know.”

Reece was feeling certain that he’d ruined the moment. He had a chance to let James kiss him and screwed it up and while part of him finally felt free, it was hard to not feel like an idiot for bringing it up just then. He didn’t know how to turn the conversation around again.

“I’m glad you told me.” James told him.

“I trust you,” he said, and it became a prayer. _I trust you, I trust you, I trust you._ It was thrilling him to hear those words in his own voice, to feel their meaning deepen with each repetition. _I trust you._

James scooted closer to Reece. “I trust you,” he echoed back, a reflex already, and his lips grazed Reece’s with each syllable.

Reece took a breath in and James kissed him.

Their lips fitted into each other with alternating pressures. Soft, at first, then enough pressure to make Reece’s thoughts turn to blinding white light. James squeezed on Reece’s lower lip between both of his and Reece matched the motion, applying pressure back against James’ top lip. James’ mouth opened slightly, allowing enough for Reece’s tongue to join with his.

And his hands, James’ hands, were all over Reece, unable to decide if they wanted him closer or further away, just grabbing at every inch of him like they’d never get a second chance. Reece returned the favor, his hands running over James’ scalp, burying themselves in James’ hair, then sliding down his scalp, his neck, his back.

James grabbed Reece’s hip, thumbing over the narrow bone and giving Reece gooseflesh over his whole body.  He broke their kiss, smiling. “Ticklish?” he asked, propping himself up on one arm, the other still on Reece’s hip.

“A little,” Reece exhaled.

James pecked Reece’s lips. “You’re cute.”

Reece scrunched his nose and flashed a bit of cheek dimples. “Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself.”

James’ hand on Reece’s hip tugged him closer and the two met at the mouth again, James shifting on top of him and never breaking the kiss.

Reece’s hands circled over James’ shoulders and then his chest. James started trailing kisses down Reece’s face, nibbling on his jaw until he made his way to Reece’s neck. In the space where his neck and shoulder met, James sucked in a small patch of skin, holding it between his teeth to wet it with his tongue. James’ hips were between Reece’s legs and he unconsciously rolled up against James in rhythm with each lick.

The flannel pants James had lent Reece were flimsy and in the brief moments where Reece had a clear thought, he hoped he didn’t end up staining them.

Those moments were few and far between. There was so much going on, so many sensations he’d never experienced. He wanted to touch every part of James, wanted to learn what his naked hands would feel there and there and _definitely_ there. It was just too hard to think while James had his mouth on him.

He willed himself to stop. He pushed gently on James’ chest and James, _smart boy_ , pulled out of the kiss on Reece’s neck.

“You good?” James asked, voice thick with lust, underscored with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” Reece answered. “It’s just a bit too much, I think.”

A strip of moonlight ran diagonally across James’ face and he smiled down at Reece.

“Okay,” he said and landed a sloppy kiss on Reece’s lips. He rolled off the top of him, opting to cuddle up to Reece’s side. They skimmed exploratory fingers over each other, their heartbeats relaxing in tandem. Every so often, James gave Reece a tiny kiss, in varying locations, and Reece was positively dripping with content.

“I’m glad you stayed,” James mumbled into Reece’s ear.

Reece turned and kissed him. “Me too.”

Sometime before the sun came up, they collapsed into sleep.

 

*********

 

Casey was about to do something stupid. Something very, very stupid.

“Jake, wake up, mate.” He pulled the blanket covering Jake off of him and threw it to the floor. Jake immediately began thrashing around his bed, his foot eventually connecting with Casey’s knee, which in turn, nearly took down Casey entirely.

“Ge’off!” Jake yelled into his pillow. “It’s _Sunday!_ No visitors before noon on Sunday!”

Casey plopped down onto Jake’s legs to still them. “Too bad. I’m here.”

“I’m basically naked.” Jake whined, his legs relentlessly kicking under Casey’s bum.

“Doesn’t bother me. Everyone on campus has seen your bits by now, anyway.” Before Jake was a part of their group, he had tried to upload a selfie whilst drunk and ended up sharing a nude for all the world to see instead. School officials were notified, Jake had a disciplinary hearing in front of the Dean, but eventually, it seemed like the administration had forgotten about it.

And suddenly Jake was there, a permanent fixture in their small clique, never too far from Tom. While the administration may have forgotten, the boys never let that slip-up die.

Jake sat up at the mention of his naked photo. “Technically, that’s child pornography,” he said, hitting Casey with his pillow. “Now get off me!”

Casey scooted himself to the end of the bed. There was plenty of room, given that Jake was at least a foot shorter than the length of the bed, if not more. Aside from Tom, Jake was the oldest, but no one would have guessed it, since he was also the smallest of them. Casey thought Jake probably had a bit of a complex about it, making up for his lack of physical presence with a much larger emotional presence.

Of course, Casey had also seen Jake getting tossed around by underclassmen, so it wasn’t necessarily undeserved.

“So,” Jake dug his big toe into Casey’s ribs, “ _why_ are you waking me before noon on a Sunday?”

“I need your help.”

Casey had planned this conversation in his head, running over his lines until he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the words roll over the empty space behind his eyelids.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What kind of help?”

“I need you to Work someone for me.” He breathed in through his mouth, the air dry in his lungs. He wet his lips with his tongue. “And I need you to not tell Tom.”

Jake’s toe dropped from where it had furrowed into Casey’s side. “No way, mate.”

Casey sucked in another breath. He knew this was going to be a hard sell. There was a small part of him - maybe a larger part of him than he’d like to admit - that had hoped his friendship with Jake would have been enough to get an immediate yes. At the very least, he thought their friendship warranted a little hesitation.

But Jake didn’t even think it over. What did that say about their friendship?

“No offense, bruv, it’s just. I can’t go behind Tom’s back.” Jake propped himself up until his back was leaning against the wall.

“Why? Because of the nude picture thing? It’s not like Barclay can give the Dean those memories back or something, if that’s what you’re worried about.” At least, Casey didn’t think Barclay could. He wasn’t entirely sure how Barclay’s power worked, but he was fairly certain it didn’t just cover memories up, it completely erased them.

“It’s not that,” Jake snapped. “It’s – We have a deal, alright? And I’m not gonna screw that up when I’m this close to being done with this school.”

Casey’s brows closed in on each other. The conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t planned for. He had always figured Tom got Jake because of the nude scandal and that was enough to keep him indebted. But now  –

“What else does Tom have on you?” he asked. The question formed slowly on his lips and he tried to will Jake to look at his face. Jake didn’t.

“He has enough.” He paused, blinking a few times at anywhere-but-Casey’s-face. “I won’t Work behind his back.”

“Betsy’s going to kill him.”

Nowhere in Casey’s night of planning the many potentials of this conversation had he strung those five words together, but once they were out, he realized he probably should have. Jake looked as though he’d been slapped, mouth slack and cheeks pink, and he finally met Casey’s eyes.

“What? How? When? _What?_ ”

Casey took the opportunity to go back to his script. “How much do you know about Tom’s family?”

Jake’s forehead crinkled into a series of zigzags. He lifted his shoulders into a half-shrug. “Not a lot. They’re powerful and wealthy and they have all the connections a person could want. What else would I care about?”

“Yeah, well. They got all that through some pretty awful means.”

“They’re Workers, Casey.” Jake actually laughed a little at that. “I know you aren’t one of us, so maybe you think it’s all good-magic-fun-times, but most of us are pretty objectively terrible people.”

“Not Betsy.” Casey shook his head. “Not Betsy,” he repeated.

Jake’s shoulders drooped and he leaned closer to Casey. “D’you love her?” he asked, as though the walls had ears.

Who knows. With Tom, maybe they did.

“I do.” Casey answered easily. He thought about Betsy kissing him goodbye the night before. Her eyes were lined in red, lips swollen, and she looked so fragile. He hated that he left her alone like that. There was no question that he was in love with Betsy.

“Have you told Tom?”

Casey’s brain went fuzzy for a moment. “About the being in love part or the murder plot part?”

“I’d imagine those are two halves of the same conversation, mate.”

“No. To both. You know what his solution would be.”

“James,” Jake said, and a moment passed before the thought fully registered. “Oh,” is all he offered when it finally did.

“Yeah. Oh.”

The fuzziness in Casey’s head ached. He remembered how Chris had told him once that James’ hands were dying. The skin was black as night, the price he paid in exchange for the Work he did. He’d never seen James without gloves himself, but somehow that made the image of them worse in his mind.

James’ dead hands. Dead hands on Betsy. Dead Betsy.

Or Betsy with dead hands of her own.

“Casey.” Jake’s voice was soft in the fog of Casey’s thoughts. He latched onto it, pulled himself from the depths. Jake’s words were even and calculated. “I hate to ask, but...are you sure this girl is worth it?”

The fog in his head lifted. “Yes,” he answered, and he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

Jake blinked twice. “Then I’ll help you.”

 

*********

 

The day after was spent in bed.

James brought his laptop over and they laid together watching films. He had lent Reece a shirt, but it ended up coming off eventually, as they were prone to kissing during the less interesting bits.

Neither of them put their gloves back on.

They didn’t talk about it. Their gloves were on the floor on the other side of the room and neither boy made a move to put them back on. It would have felt wrong to wear them again, to put that barrier between their skins. Once Reece had touch James, he never wanted to wear gloves around him again. Luckily, James agreed.

It was mid-afternoon when James’ phone went off.

Reece’s head was on James’ chest and at the sound of James’ ringtone, he shot straight up.

Tom was calling. He knew it. It had to be Tom.

He was screwed.

James got up, calmly, and walked over to the heap of his clothes from the day before. He dug around in his pants pockets and extracted his phone.

“It’s Chris,” he informed Reece, a look of relief passing between them.

“Hey,” he said into the phone. Reece wondered if he should step into the hall, give James some privacy. Sure, they had been intimate last night, but that didn’t make Reece privy to every bit of James’ life now. And he could hear Chris practically shouting on the other end of the phone. If he stayed in the room, he was going to hear every bit of this conversation.

“Where are you?” Chris asked on the other line. His accent came through thick and hurried. Reece stood up, but James gestured a small patting motion toward the bed and he sat back down.

“I’m in my room.”

“I’m coming over.”

James looked at Reece. “Well, Reece is –”

“I don’t care that your boyfriend’s there. I’ll be there in ten.”

A burning tickled behind Reece’s ears and engulfed his face quickly. James tossed his phone onto the bed, diving in after it.

“So Chris is coming over.” James said.

“Do you want me to – I mean, should I leave?”

James lifted a corner of his mouth. “Nah, you heard the man. The boyfriend gets to stay.”

Reece’s heart slammed around inside of his chest. “The boyfriend?”

“Mhm. No one else can stay. Just the boyfriend.”

“Is this your way of asking?”

“Do I have to ask?”

There were reasons Reece could have said no to the prospect of being James’ boyfriend. When it came down to it, they were both Workers. Hero or villain, no Worker Reece had ever heard of had a happy ending.

At the same time, hardly any of the Workers Reece knew were ever happy to begin with. The first ones he could think of were Barclay and Tom. The common denominator there was obvious.

They might not end happy, but they could be happy. If they wanted.

“You don’t have to ask,” Reece answered. “But I think I’d like you to.”

“You’re going to make me ask you?” James huffed.

“Absolutely.”

James crawled over to Reece, kissing him first on the nose and then several times on the lips.

“Boyfriend?” He used the single word as a question and Reece couldn’t stop smiling, even if he had tried.

“Boyfriend,” he agreed. His arms wrapped around James’ shoulders and he pulled him down into another kiss, locked him there until a pounding at the door broke them apart.

By the time Chris actually walked into the room, the two boys had managed to separate themselves, at least at the mouth. Between them, their fingers latched onto each other, a singular lifeline.

“I can see you two aren’t exactly bothered by what happened last night.” Chris pulled the desk chair over toward the bed and sat facing them.

“What happened after…?” Reece didn’t finish the question, but Chris filled it in for him.

“After you told Tom how everyone wanted to fuck his boyfriend and then ran off?”

“ _Hey_.” James warned, massaging the back of Reece’s hand with his thumb.

“Right, well, James chased out after you, Barclay started acting all weird, and Tom got a phone call.” Chris looked at them expectantly. His words failed to have an effect on either of them. “From his father,” he added.

James let out a hiss from between his teeth. “Shit. What did he want?”

“Dunno. But whatever it was, Tom came back looking shook up. Shook up and pissed off.”

“Do you think he’s gonna –” Reece couldn’t finish the thought. He cleared his throat and started again. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“I think you recruiting Charlie is the most important thing you can focus on right now.” Chris leaned toward them. “Look, as far as I know, that’s an order coming down from the top. If you seal this, who knows. Maybe that’ll lighten the pressure on Tom enough to make last night go away.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Reece whimpered.

Chris swung his book bag from over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m here.” He pulled out file folder, plain manila in color, the name “Jones” in block letters on the label.

“Tom doesn’t know that I swiped this from him. But it’s got everything on Charlie.” Chris extended the folder to Reece. It was heavier than he expected, overflowing with newspaper cutouts and pages of printed information. “Read it. Find something you can use to try again.”

Reece didn’t open the folder. “Thank you,” he said.

Chris looked like he might say something else, but shut his mouth and nodded back at Reece instead. “You’re welcome.”

For a moment, Reece couldn’t take his eyes off the folder. A small flicker of resentment blossomed in him, knowing Tom had held onto this the entire time. Charlie’s entire history sat in Reece’s lap and it was difficult to not blame Tom for his failure.

“Listen,” Chris said, bag strapped back onto his shoulders. “Just remember something for me?”

“Sure.”

He pulled his lip out from between his teeth. “The job comes first.”

He shared a looked with James, who tipped his head solemnly. Reece had heard those words before. It was a saying Tom used, whenever one of them got too cheeky with him. _The job comes first_ , with an “ _or else_ ” implied. But coming from Chris, it felt larger, somehow.

“The job comes first.” James parroted and Chris seemed satisfied.

“Be careful, Bibs,” he said from the door.

James wrapped his arm around Reece’s shoulder. They both stared into his lap, the folder still unopened.

“Are you okay? You hungry? I could go for a bite right about now.” James asked him.

“And a distraction, right?”

“Absolutely.” James kissed Reece on the crest of his cheek.

“Done.”

 

*********

 

Casey had fifteen missed calls. He figured they were all from Betsy, though he stopped checking after the fourth time his phone chirped at him, the name “Betsy Blue” with that blue heart emoji lighting up his screen. He didn’t put his phone on silent, counting each time he felt a buzz in his pocket, but, well... He didn’t answer any of the calls, either.

His phone buzzed again. Sixteen now.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding Betsy, at least not for any of the reasons that she would have assumed. His mouth dried up anytime he thought too much about what Betsy was thinking when his phone clicked over to voicemail yet again. After her confession, the last thing Casey should’ve been doing was ignoring her, leaving her room to doubt his love for her could withstand the fact that she was a Worker.

But for the first time, he couldn’t lie to her. Casey had spent so much time lying to Betsy over the past few months, it should’ve been second nature. It was, mostly. Some lies were easier than others.

Covering up a plan to have his girlfriend Worked to hide her from his boss, who would be calling for her death if he knew that her family was planning to have her kill him first?

It made his head spin just to think about it. That lie wouldn’t be easy.

For this to work, Betsy _had_ to stay in the dark.

Normally, having Jake Work someone was as good as a death sentence. Transformation Work with people was difficult, but once someone was turned into an inanimate object, there’s no coming back. Maybe physically, though Casey wasn’t sure if Tom ever had Jake turn someone back before. They’d just be an empty body when they came back, anyway.

That only held true for inanimate objects, though. If he kept Betsy’s consciousness alive, then eventually she could come back.

Casey just needed enough time for Betsy’s parents to forget about her, for him to get away from Tom. They’d figure the rest out later, somewhere far away from here.

It wasn’t a perfect plan. Betsy very well might end up hating him for a long time. Possibly the rest of his life.

But she’d be alive.

Casey was practically sprinting back to his room. He knew he was running on a limited schedule and he needed time to figure things out, to come up with an escape plan for Betsy, a story for Tom and –

Tom was in front of his door.

That threw a potential wrench in his plans.

“Casey,” he said simply, with a curt nod. “We missed you last night.”

Casey ran his tongue over his teeth. “I was with Betsy.”

“Of course. How are the Englishes?”

“Fine.” He brushed off the question casually. “Nothing has really changed.”

Under Tom’s gaze, Casey felt more than naked. It was like Tom could see through his skin, through every lie he’d ever told. He studied Casey for an uncomfortable length of time before stepping aside and gesturing to the door.

“I think the rest of this conversation should be in private, don’t you?”

The last thing Casey wanted was to be alone anywhere with Tom Mann right then, but given the choice, he felt a tiny modicum of safety in the semi-public nature of the hallway. Once they stepped into his room, despite it being _his_ room, they were totally in Tom’s territory. For all he knew, one of the other boys was behind the door already, lying in wait on Tom’s orders. Within minutes he could be dead or a chair or left without a single memory of Betsy.

“Sure. Of course,” he said and unlocked the door.

Tom wasted no time in getting to the point. “You asked Jake to Work for you.”

“He told you,” Casey said, more to himself than to Tom. “Figures.”

Tom took a seat in Casey’s desk chair. “You’ve been watching the Englishes for a year. For that, I’ll allow you to explain what warranted going to Jake before coming to me.”

Casey blinked twice. “I’m not going to be Worked?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“’Course you didn’t,” he nodded. “Right. Well. Glad that’s cleared up.”

“ _Casey._ ” Tom bore into him with that icy stare that made Casey’s throat seize up. He swallowed against it, words fumbling over each other in his head.

“Betsy’s a Death Worker.” Tom didn’t react to that, which was frustrating. “Her parents want her to Work.”

Tom cocked his head.

“Specifically, you. They want her to Work you.” Casey exhaled through his nose. His hands started to shake and he clenched his fists tight against his sides.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

“She doesn’t want to do it.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“No!” Casey shouted back at him. “No, because you would have had her killed or – or worse, had her turned into a trophy piece and I’m not gonna let that happen to her.”

He wanted to slump onto his bed, to finally cry about how frustrated he’d been, about how unfair it was put him in this position – he was exhausted, knees threatening to buckle at a slight breeze, but Casey stood his ground. He threw Tom’s stare back at him, willed himself to stay upright in his defense. In Betsy’s defense. She deserved that from him.

“You love her,” Tom offered, but Casey refused to back down. He nodded once.

Tom considered this. “What was your plan?” he asked.

There was no point in keeping any of it secret anymore. “Have Jake Work her, into something living, so she could come back once her parents had forgotten about her. They’d think she was dead or missing and after enough time, they wouldn’t find her and...I don’t know. She and I could have gotten away. Find someone to change her back and disappear.”

“Does she know about the plan?”

“No.”

Tom seemed almost impressed by that. “She could hate you.”

“Or she could be dead.” _At your hands_ , he didn’t add. “I think one alternative is better than the other.”

“Fair. Still, part of your plan involved lying to me, and I don’t take kindly to that. You jeopardized my operation.”

“That’s bullshit. In my version of events, no one has to die.”

“And two people under my authority would have undermined and lied to me. To protect a mark.”

“You’re not the only one who gets to make decisions based on protecting the people you love.” That stopped Tom in his tracks. “I know what you’re doing with Reece and James and it’s shit. So tell me. If it was Barclay and not Betsy, what would you have done?”

Tom’s expression hardened, his silence overwhelming the air between them. Finally, he cleared his throat with a low cough and said, “There will be repercussions, keeping the girl alive.”

A sob built in Casey’s chest. Afraid it might escape if he tried to speak, Casey nodded in place of words.

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” Tom warned. He left without saying anything else.

Slowly, Casey counted to a hundred. Once he was certain that no one else would come through his door, he choked out a breath of relief that was quickly replaced with tears. Sobs wrecked through his body and he dropped to floor, shaking.

His phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out with trembling fingers.

Seventeen missed calls.

 

*********

 

Dinner proved to be an adequate distraction. They took a vow of silence about Charlie, leaving the folder behind on James’ desk, to be worried about at a later time. Digging through Charlie’s past was going to be an intense endeavor, and the weight of recruiting Charlie was starting to bring Reece down.

And, all things considered, Reece really didn’t want to be down right then.

He was still in shock that he got to call James his boyfriend, that he could kiss him and hold his hand, and be completely, totally, disgustingly smitten with him.

They did have to put their gloves on before leaving and it made Reece feel a bit closed off. He missed being able to touch James’ skin. He hated the double layer of leather between them when they held hands. Later, he thought, he would have to try to make James promise that they’d never wear gloves when they were alone again.

“Are you staying tonight?” James asked him when they were leaving the dining hall.

“Do you want me to stay?”

James laughed and Reece thought he’d never seen this boy so happy in the seven months they’d known each other. “Why would I not want you to stay? I mean, I do have a room to myself, I better put it to good use.”

Reece’s gut jumped around inside him. “Sounds like a plan, then.”

“Would you want to stop by your room? Grab some clothes, maybe?” They were walking through campus, not too far from Reece’s building.

“What, I can’t just keep borrowing yours?” Reece teased.

“I don’t think I have any more clean clothes left.” James answered.

“I don’t think anything you’ve given me has been proper clean, to be honest.”

“All the more reason for you to go get some clothes from your room.”  James punctuated the thought with a kiss to the side of Reece’s head. “Want me to come with?”

Reece thought about Charlie, left alone and fuming in their room with his things. He had no idea what he’d be coming back to. On one hand, it’d be nice to have James there, just in case.

On the other hand, Charlie was still his assignment. As far as he knew, anyway. No one just stopped Working for the Manns.

“It’s alright. I got this,” he said, forcing confidence into his voice.

James nipped at Reece’s lips discreetly. “Meet you at mine?”

“Deal.”

Surprisingly, when he got back to his room, he found it empty. Charlie’s things were still there, but Charlie was nowhere in sight. Reece’s stuff was left undisturbed. It didn’t look like Charlie had come back to their room either.

It made for a quick pit-stop. Reece grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and a shirt for the next day, some clean socks and pants, and threw them all together in his book bag. The entire motion was done in under two minutes and he half-jogged the way back to James’ room.

He was several feet away from James’ door when he heard the shouting.

There was just one voice and it was most definitely James’, cut with intermittent silences, sometimes mid-sentence. He must’ve been arguing with someone over the phone.

 _Casey, maybe?_ It wouldn’t have been the first time Casey had gone and done something stupid and called James to come fix it.

A solid half-minute passed before Reece realized he was on the verge of eavesdropping on his own boyfriend. He should have backed away and come back after a few minutes, let James work out whatever this was and wait for him to tell Reece about it later.

He would have done just that.

“Reece can’t do it.”

James was talking about him. Regards for privacy fell to the wayside. Reece scooted closer to the door, ears straining for context.

“You don’t get it. He went off on you because of his blowback. He’s only Worked once and you saw how bad it is already. Just from one time.” A pause.

James was talking to Tom. About Reece. Blowback made hate flare up in his chest, but he quelled it almost immediately. James was trying to protect him. He was standing up to Tom for him.

“You told me my job was to watch him and I did. And I’m telling you, he can’t do this.”

The walls closed in on Reece.

_My job was to watch him._

_He can’t do this._

“Convincing him to Work wasn’t part of the deal.”

_My job was to watch him._

“You wouldn’t.” James’ voice had a hint of fear behind it, but Reece hardly noticed. There was a pounding in his ears that drowned nearly everything else out.

“The job comes first.” That phrase again, then silence. Reece guessed that the call had ended because this statement was followed by a thud that sounded like James throwing his phone onto his desk. Or against a wall.

_Part of the deal._

_My job._

_He can’t._

Reece breathed into his fingers, palms pressed together under his chin, and he fought against his instincts to scream. Blowback burned in him, the skin under his gloves like fire, begging him to Work, to channel his hate into someone else.

He walked into James’ room.

Hardly a day before, Reece walked into this room and let James touch him ungloved. He told James everything here in this room, in the bed just a few feet away. The room hadn’t changed.

The air had.

James’ phone was in pieces on the floor between them.

“You broke your phone.” Reece said. A good, solid entry. One that gave James time enough to fess up.

“Ah, yeah, I’m a bit of a klutz, huh?” He didn’t look at Reece when he answered, just crouched down to pick up what had been his phone.

“How’s Tom?”

Still on the floor, James looked up at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you were just on the phone with Tom. I heard it.”

“I don’t know what you heard, but –”

“I heard what I heard.” The other boy stood and even though James was taller, he still felt so much smaller to Reece just then. They faced each other, Reece’s chest rising and falling noticeably under James’ shirt. For the first time, he couldn’t read James’ expression. Was he hurt? Was he scared? Did he care at all that he’d been caught?

James broke eye contact first. “Reece,” he said, voice quiet and unassuming.

“I was your job, wasn’t I?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Just say it, James! Tell me about how all of this –” Reece gestured with both arms to the room he had shared with James the night before, “– was just a job for you. How I was your mark.”

“Reece, don’t.” James’ face broke and his eyes were glossed over with tears threatening to spill over at any moment. “Please.”

“You couldn’t wait to get a minute alone, could you? Had to run off and call Tom as soon as you could, tell him how I’m not good enough to do this stupid fucking job.”

“I didn’t –”

“Don’t lie to me, okay, you don’t get to lie to me after everything I told you.”

James didn’t respond. His lips were swollen, cheeks flushed with red.

“Did any of this…I mean, was it all just part of your job? Or just a perk of getting assigned to the stupid kid Worker who falls for every asshole who bothers to look twice at him?”

That did it. Tears rolled off James’ cheekbones, some soaking into his shirt, others landing on the floor. A wave of indifference rolled through Reece, pooled with the hatred low in his gut.

“So what, you had to watch me? Make sure that I Worked Charlie?” Reece pulled at his hair. “What was your plan? Get me to like you, to call you my _boyfriend, for Christ’s sake_ , and then use that to get me to Work?”

“Reece,” James pleaded again.

The weight of what he accused James of hit Reece all at once. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I’ve spent years Working people the old fashioned way and when you did it, I couldn’t even _see_ it.”

“Reece, please, this is blowback talking, right, okay, we can talk about this –”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Reece backed away from James. “All I want to do is Work you so that you hate me as much as I hate you right now. Don’t make me regret not doing that.”

He left James there and he let the fire take him over.

 

*********

 

Reece didn’t hear from anyone for the next week. He spent his days in the basement of the library, pouring himself into schoolwork and increasing his familiarity with the Dewey-decimal system. At the very last minute every night, he would leave the library, getting back to his room just before curfew. Charlie was always already in bed, covers pulled up to his ears. They hadn’t talked again. He supposed he was stuck with Charlie as a roommate, even if he wasn’t Working for Tom.

Or, he thought he wasn’t Working for Tom. The whole thing was pretty murky.

Tom wasn’t calling him, at least. Neither was James, for that matter, but that meant little when James probably hadn’t gotten his phone fixed yet.

Reece just tried to keep himself busy with other things. Ignore Charlie, ignore the other boys, just make it through each day with a minimal number of thoughts about Working.

Which was, admittedly, more difficult in practice.

On the eighth day of his self-imposed solitude, Reece came back to his room and Charlie was awake. Reece didn’t say anything to him, but he felt Charlie’s eyes on him, watching him put away his book bag and his jacket. Charlie obviously wanted something, but like the good Worker he was, Reece was going to let Charlie make the first move.

“I have something for you.”

That got Reece’s attention.

“Yeah?” He faced Charlie, who had a scrap of paper folded between his fingers. “What’s it about?”

“Some guy gave it to me, said to get it to you.” He extended his hand to Reece and dropped the paper in his palm.

“What guy?”

“Dark hair, Irish?”

“Chris.” Reece unfolded the note. 

> _North Quad. Right now._

“Chris gave you this?” Reece was confused. “When?”

“If that’s who you say it is, and I dunno, when I was coming back here? An hour or so ago?” Charlie sounded about as interested in the note as he looked – that is, not at all. Reece grabbed his jacket off the bedpost he’d just hung it on and headed for the door.

“Hey.” Charlie looked up at Reece, struggled to get his words out. “Be careful. If this Chris person has anything to do with Tom Mann…be careful.”

“Thanks. I will.” He wanted to stay and take advantage of this opening in Charlie’s silence, but he was already an hour behind Chris’ note. There would be time to talk to Charlie later, if he played his cards right. So he took off for the North Quad.

 

*********

 

The North Quad was the smallest quad on campus, just a patch of grass and a small pond surrounded by trees and a single bench. It used to be the center of campus, back when campus was composed of two buildings total. Now, it was mostly out of the way and left alone. It was a good spot to read or lay out in the sun. Or meet up with shady Workers.

Across the quad, someone sat on the bench. But it wasn’t Chris.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” Tom greeted Reece. “I figured I’d have another twenty minutes or so. Did you leave the library early?”

Reece fought himself to stay calm. “You’ve been watching me?”

“You still Work for me. But I’m smart enough to give you some space.” He studied Reece. “To cool down. Blowback and all that.”

“You’ve been playing me.”

Tom patted the space next to him. “Sit.” He took notice of Reece’s hands, balled up into tight fists and added, in a much softer tone, “Please.”

The last thing Reece wanted to do was to sit down and have a chat with Tom, but he knew the conversation was unavoidable. If he sat down next to Tom, at least he wouldn’t have to look at him, and that might keep him from doing something stupid. He sat, keeping his back straight and his eyes anywhere except on the boy next to him.

“You seem to be under the impression that I take my Work as anything other than deadly serious.” Tom seemed unwilling to look at Reece, too.

“I’d say leaving out vital information about a mark doesn’t exactly scream ‘I take my job seriously.’”

“I should’ve told you about Charlie. But I also didn’t think you’d bring up my name straight away.” Tom smacked Reece on the arm. “Amateur move.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot to draw on all of my experience that I have here.” He joked dryly, immediately chastising himself for letting his guard down so easily. He deserved answers from Tom and Tom didn’t deserve his humor. “So what’d you do to Charlie to make him hate you?”

“He hates me more on principle.” Tom exhaled. “His parents and mine – before we were born – they were at the center of the Working world. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, my parents don’t like competition.”

“They killed his parents.”

“Worse. His parents killed themselves. Blowback’s a bitch.” Tom fiddled with his gloves.

“So he blames you…or your parents. Whatever.”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely would have been beneficial to know before I went on about introducing you.”

Tom laughed. “You know, for someone who is so stuck on Working the old fashioned way, you’re really, really bad at it.”

“Yeah, well…the goal was to get him to like me.” Reece’s voice lowered. “I’m starting to think I’m not very good at that, either.”

“James seems to tell a different story.”

Flashes of how Reece had last left James flickered through his thoughts. James, his puffy bottom lip wavering, face red and slicked with tears. Reece telling James that he hated him. That tiniest sliver of doubt in James’ eyes that Reece wasn’t just fueled by blowback. How could that James have anything good to say about him now?

He couldn’t talk about this. Especially not with Tom.

“Why did you want me to Work Charlie?”

Tom pressed his lips together, planning out his next words very carefully. “My parents wanted me to recruit him. The kid’s a powerful Worker. Emotions, just like you.”

“That’s not the reason.” He looked right at Tom, forced himself to stare the older boy down with as much confidence as he could muster. “And don’t try to say it’s because I hadn’t Worked for you yet. This Charlie kid is important to your parents, you shouldn’t have trusted a job like that to me. So why?”

“Barclay.”

Reece didn’t understand. “Barclay told you to put me on it?”

“Barclay forgot we were together.” Once the truth was out of his mouth, Tom caved easily. His head hung low, voice catching in his throat. “It wasn’t for very long, but…he forgot. He’s losing memories fast, just whole chunks of time, gone. If he Works again…”

“He’ll forget you.”

Tom’s legs were shaking and he tried to steady them by leaning his elbows into his knees. “Eventually he’ll lose all of it, everything we ever had, because of what I made him do.”

Reece wanted to feel bad for Tom, wanted to see and understand his pain. What he felt reminded him of Sunday School, the lessons on Judas. He could have all the empathy in the world, but it didn’t change the fact that he was the one on the cross. He swallowed a mouthful of spit.

“And my blowback, from what you’ll make me do, that doesn’t matter?”

“Not the way his does.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Tom’s expression hardened. “What do you want me to say? I have to recruit Charlie. I’m stuck, okay? I’m not sorry for looking out for myself.”

“That’s bullshit,” Reece repeated. He stood up. “I’m out. I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Yes, you are,” Tom corrected, the seriousness in his voice edging through. “You’re just as stuck as I am. Because I told James that if you don’t Work Charlie, he has to Work you.”

Reece stopped dead in his tracks. A different flash, James’ voice saying _“You wouldn’t,”_ the fear palpable through a closed door.

“You’re a Worker,” Tom said, his voice drowned out by Reece’s pulse pounding in his ears. “Start pulling your weight. You have three days.”

 

*********

 

He sprinted to James’ room. The cool night air tore through his throat and lungs, but he didn’t stop until he was in front of James’ door. He slammed his fists against the worn out wood so hard that several of James’ neighbors opened their doors, unsure of exactly which door was being knocked on.

And suddenly James was standing in front of him, wearing only pajama bottoms and gloves. Reece threw himself onto James, held on him, and was only vaguely aware of James reaching out to close the door behind him. His chin tucked up over James’ shoulder and he buried his face into James’ neck.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself repeating, desperate for the sincerity he felt to come through. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, _James_ , I’m sorry.”

James kissed the side of Reece’s head. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He held on until Reece stopped shaking.

“I thought –” James’ voice cracked. He took a breath and started again. “I thought Tom might try to punish you.”

“He told me everything. I should have known –”

“You couldn’t have known.” James pulled away, cupped a hand around Reece’s jaw and Reece melted into his glove. “But I could have told you. I just…I thought maybe you could get around Working Charlie and everything would be okay. I should have told you.”

“It’s okay. I know now.” Reece took both of James’ hands and held them in his own. Guilt and relief poured into his words together, a mess of emotions. “I was an idiot, the way I reacted…it was blowback, but it was me. I didn’t fight it.”

“You said what you said because of what I did.” James kissed his forehead. “Can you forgive me?”

“Can you forgive me?” Reece ached at the question, needing James to be able to forgive him, to look at him like he did when they stood in this same spot and stripped each other of their gloves. Without James’ forgiveness, he couldn’t imagine being able to live with himself.

James drew his face closer and kissed Reece on the lips.

“Okay, but is that a yes?” Reece asked against James’ mouth. James threw back his head and laughed, a momentary lapse from everything else and Reece couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s a yes.” Another kiss. “I trust you.”

“I trust you.”

He tugged off his gloves and James did the same. They touched each other like it was that first night, gentle and curious, and so welcome that Reece almost forgot how he had ended up at James’ to begin with.

“James,” he whispered, brushing his fingers over the dip of his cheek. “I have to Work Charlie.”

“I know.” _And I know what will happen if you don’t_ , went unsaid, hanging over them like a noose.

“Will you still trust me? Even then?”

“Even then.”

That was enough for Reece, at least just then, and he forfeited his words for a kiss from James. They moved toward the bed, somehow managing to remove half of their clothes without pulling out of that kiss. Their movements were hasty, needy, and for the night, Reece decided, he would think of nothing else.

 

*********

 

Barclay was unusually quiet that night. He was never very talkative at night - Tom figured he probably dreaded going to bed, not knowing what memories he’d manage to hang onto in the morning. But tonight, this was something more. His silence was heavy, intentional, and directed at Tom.

“There’s no point in being mad at me. Unless you wrote it in your journal to hold a grudge.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it came out of Tom’s mouth the way any mention of Barclay’s memory did – soft, apprehensive, like the mention of it would somehow make things worse. Barclay shot a dark look over to Tom.

“I’m just saying. You can’t stay mad at me forever.”

Barclay dropped the clothes he’d been gathering for laundry. “You don’t even care why I’m mad. You’re just waiting for me to forget about it.”

Tom frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Barclay held Tom’s gaze for a moment, before shaking his head and bending down to pick his dirty clothes back up. He threw the pile from his arms into a laundry basket with nearly enough force to knock the entire thing over.

“So what, you’re just fine with forcing James to Work Reece if he can’t get Charlie?” Barclay challenged.

“It’s not a matter of getting Charlie anymore,” Tom explained. “It’s a matter of Working Charlie. Reece isn’t going to Work without a push. I gave him that.”

“He shouldn’t even be recruiting in the first place.”

“We’re not getting into this again.” There were only so many times Tom could justify himself to Barclay.

“You can’t keep making decisions for me. You act like I’m fragile –”

“Your memory _is_ fragile. I’m not–” Tom stopped, remembering how Barclay struggled to recall Tom’s face just that morning. “You’re not going to lose everything because of me.”

Barclay closed the space between them, forcing Tom to look toward him. Sometimes Tom wondered if Barclay was aware of how intimidating he could be, all wide-shouldered, tall, and when the light hit his eyes just right, he was menacing. He used it to his full advantage against Tom, towering over him, determined.

“But you’re fine making James watch Reece fall apart. I don’t get it, you’re going through with Casey’s plan to save Betsy, but you can’t do the same for James? Why?”

“Because Casey and Betsy had no affect on you.” Tom broke, the admission releasing an entire week’s worth of tension. “If Reece doesn’t Work Charlie, you’re the only option. The threat is empty, anyway.”

Barclay shirked back, losing several inches of height. “What?”

“I bluffed. With that threat over their heads, Reece’ll Work Charlie. James won’t have to do anything.”

On one hand, there was very little risk in telling Barclay what he plan had been. The chances of him remembering every detail were slim to none and the relief Tom felt made him wonder why he’d ever thought he should carry this himself. On the other hand, he knew objectively that the fewer people who knew the full plan, the better of a chance it stood to going off without issue.

Tom was proving himself, to his Workers, to his father, and yes, to Barclay, that he could do this, that he wasn’t weak and he could get the job done with few casualties. A new era of Workers were going to take over, under his lead, and if he needed to lie to keep them alive, if he had to make someone hate him to keep the people closest to him alive and well, he was willing to do what he had to.

“You were never going to make James Work Reece?”

Tom shrugged. “I knew I wouldn’t have to. The threat was enough.”

Barclay frowned. “There’s still Reece’s blowback. How is what James is going to go through with that any different than you and I?”

“It’s not perfect, but Reece has hardly Worked at all. It’ll take years before his blowback is as bad as yours. Maybe I can figure something out before then. You don’t have the luxury of time.” Tom broke the staring contest between them, made his way to his own bed and pulled down the covers.

“Maybe,” Barclay echoed as Tom sat himself in bed.

“Right now, maybe is the best I can do.” Barclay didn’t respond to that. Tom let himself hope that meant he could finally understand where he had been coming from this whole time. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I don’t know,” Barclay sighed. Tom couldn’t fault him. This was messy. What they did was never going to be easy, but Tom needed Barclay in his corner more than he was willing to admit. “Can you come over here?”

Barclay lifted the corner of his blanket and Tom hesitated before curling himself underneath the covers. Their knees bumped against each other until Barclay used his foot to pull Tom’s leg between his.

Tom nuzzled his forehead into Barclay’s neck.. “I’m being selfish, by choosing you. I know that.”

“Why didn’t you just tell everyone that from the beginning?” In this confined space, he could feel Barclay’s voice surround him. It vibrated in Barclay’s chest and it rolled over Tom like a high tide.

“Reece would never agree to it voluntarily and then you would’ve had to Work.”

“Oh.” Maybe it was finally settling into Barclay, the depth of Tom’s love for him. He willed it through every point of contact between them, prayed Barclay can feel in under his skin. _I’m trying my best to keep you_ , he said by pressing his fingers into Barclay’s back. _I’ve had a glimpse of losing you and oh god, let me keep you_ , he begged.

“You can’t save everyone,” Barclay said after a small silence.

“When I can’t save everyone, I’m gonna save you.” Tom pressed his lips to Barclay’s neck, dragged them along his jaw, his chin, planted kisses wherever he could manage. The kisses were needy, sloppy, searching for approval. “But I’m still gonna try.”

Barclay pulled back, just enough to plant a kiss on Tom’s lips and everything slowed.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.”

“Okay,” Tom said.

A few hours later, Barclay was snoring heavily against him and Tom removed himself, quietly returning to his own bed.

 

*********

 

The wind was like ice. Fall was coming to a close, a chill settling on campus and forcing the air from Casey’s lungs if he breathed in too quickly. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and triple-checked his phone. No new messages.

“Casey Cody Johnson, you better have a good reason for blowing me off this week.”

Betsy approached him, half hidden in the shadow of the library. He’d asked her to meet him around the back of the building, the only correspondence between them that week. The back end of the library faced toward town, but there were several yards and lines of trees to obscure the view of any casual on-lookers.

“Betsy.” He said her name gently and even though her normally wide eyes were narrowed and everything about her stance suggested that she was more than pissed off, Casey wrapped his arms around her shoulders and, albeit only slightly, she relaxed against him.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Are  _you_? You won’t answer my calls, it’s been days –”

“I was worried,” he lied and it tasted foul on his tongue. “You freaked me out with the whole ‘my house is bugged’ thing and I wasn’t sure someone wouldn’t overhear our phone calls or something. I needed time to figure things out.”

“Figure what out?” Betsy dropped any pretense of being angry and her full focus rested on Casey, which was good. That’s what Casey needed. The guilt he felt, that was unexpected. _You’re saving her_ , he reminded himself.

He took her hands into his. “Before I say anything, I need to make sure we’re on the same page here, okay?”

Betsy squeezed his hands and he took that as green light.

“If I could get you away from everything, make it so that you would never have to Work, would you trust me enough to do what I said?”

“I don’t want to end up like my parents, Case.” Her voice came out in a near whisper and Casey pulled her closer. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“And you trust me?”

“Always.”

This close, Casey could feel the small tremors under her skin. He kissed her forehead, held her to his chest. “I love you,” he told her.

“I love you, too.”

He tipped her chin up, closed his eyes, and kissed her on the lips until she stopped shaking. She tasted like salt and strawberries and he tried to breathe her in one last time, never taking his lips off hers. He didn’t open his eyes when Jake came up behind her or even when she melted from underneath him. Betsy was there and then she was gone and Casey couldn’t look at what he’d done.

“I’ve got her,” Jake said and Casey swallowed a mouthful of bile.

When he opened his eyes, a blonde cat was trying to claw its way out of Jake’s arms. Casey reached out, scritched behind her ears once and she seemed to calm under his touch.

“We’ll take her to Tom. He’ll want proof.”

 

*********

 

Reece returned to his room the next morning. Untangling himself from James took more effort than he’d expected. His limbs felt heavy, his mind exhausted.

James walked through a vague plan with him, but ultimately, this was going to be up to Reece. For the first time, he was going to Work someone on two fronts. It was the only hope he had to nail this down.

Charlie jumped at the door opening. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, not far from where Reece had left him the night before. He might’ve believed that Charlie had sat there all night, if it weren’t for the change of clothes; today he donned a simple teeshirt and pair of jeans with enough holes that Reece wasn’t sure they were entirely intentional.

“You’re back,” Charlie said, more like a question than a statement.

“Yeah. Sorry, I probably should have found a way to tell you I wasn’t coming back last night.”

“’S fine.”

Reece dropped his bookbag and shed his jacket. He could feel Charlie following him with his eyes and he surprised even himself when he dropped down next to Charlie on his bed.

“Thanks for looking out for me last night.”

“’S nothing.” Charlie cleared his throat. “Your friend, Chris, is he alright?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna be fine.” Reece clapped Charlie on the leg. His hand warmed, became uncomfortably hot with the contact. He held it there.

James had taken a needle to the middle finger of Reece’s glove that morning. Nearly imperceptible, a tiny hole gave him all the exposed skin he needed and the holes in Charlie’s jeans gave him plenty of space to work with.

Reece latched on to every positive feeling he had left. Lexi, before he knew what he was. Barclay, laughing. James, with terrible bedhead, kissing Reece awake. His hand was on fire and he pushed all of that warmth into Charlie, with a single name at the forefront of his feelings. _Tom Mann._

“You know. Tom isn’t as bad as you think,” he encouraged.

Charlie’s frighteningly blue eyes glossed over. “Yeah,” he said noncommittally.

“Do you want to meet him?” Reece asked, his hand aching, but still firm on Charlie’s thigh.

“Yeah. Could I?” Charlie asked, his voice empty.

“Sure thing.”

Reece fished his phone out of his pocket with one hand, tapped Tom’s name on his speed dial. He didn’t wait for Tom to say anything, just listened for the click of Tom picking up and said, “It’s done.”

The door to his room opened and Tom entered first, followed by James.

Reece released his hold on Charlie. The headache hit him, immediate and intense and blinding. He tried to stand and then James was there and they were on the floor and everything Reece saw was white.

“You did good, Bibs.” He thought that was Tom, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay.” That was definitely James, the voice too close and too distinct to be anyone else.

“Stay,” Reece said and the world went black.

 

*********

 

It was dark when he woke up, a gasp caught deep in his chest. His chest ached and he _couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe._ His vision blanched and he shot up in bed. Reece sucked in gulps of air frantically until it broke, taking in giant, heaving breaths.

James sat up next to him. “You okay?” he asked, any traces of sleep wiped out in a panic.

“Night...mare,” Reece wheezed.

James smoothed his hand out over Reece’s spine, rubbed small circles across his back. “Do you need anything? Water?”

“Water,” Reece agreed. James kissed the side of his head and stretched while getting out of bed. He grabbed a coffee mug off his desk, dipped into the bathroom to fill it.

Reece tried to focus on calming his breathing. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in the middle of the night like this. Usually it was worst in the weeks after he’d Worked Charlie, but it’d been months since the last time. The next round was coming up soon. The week after this one and he’d have to remind Charlie that he didn’t hate Tom anymore.

Tom thought - hoped - maybe it’d become permanent, if they were lucky. That Charlie’s own good feelings could eventually replace the ones Reece Worked into him. For the time being, he still needed a touch up and it wore on Reece.

James strolled back into the room, clicking the bathroom light off behind him. He extended the mug out to Reece, silhouetted by moonlight, and Reece took it from his with both hands. Reece took careful sips, slow and small. Raw skin clawed at the back of his throat and the cold water did little to soothe it.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“You’re welcome.” James cuddled up behind him, rubbed his face on Reece’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” James kissed his neck. His hands snaked around Reece’s sides, ran over his stomach, and squeezed. With only the moonlight, they disappeared into the darkness of the night and Reece sought them out by touch alone. He wrapped one hand around James’.

“Here,” James took the mug from Reece and set it next to the bed. He reached out with his free hand and tipped Reece’s face toward his, kissed him like he was Working a calm into Reece with his lips.

“You’ve got a few days still,” James said, his forehead pressed to Reece’s. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know.”

They kissed lazily and Reece relaxed. He didn’t know how he would have survived any of this without James. That’s not to say there weren’t issues and honestly, James had every reason to drop him during the weeks when his blowback was in full force. Being with Reece wasn’t easy and he knew that and not a day went by that he wasn’t overwhelmingly grateful that James loved him enough to stick around. James was soft and gentle and patient and Reece had no doubt that he absolutely did not deserve him.

They wanted to be together. They chose each other. They made it work.

James made him better, despite everything Tom forced them through.

Reece pulled off James’ mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” James answered, his lips brushing over Reece’s when he spoke.

Reece scooted back, took one of James’ hands between his own and held it in his lap. “Can you...and I get if you say no, okay, I just. Can you tell me about the first time you Worked?”

He squinted to make out James’ face, but he was looking down, his quiff collapsed into a messy bedhead, hanging low in front of his eyes.

“You said you might tell me someday and I don’t know. I hate being the only one in the group Working all the time now and the closer it gets to the next time, the more I hate it.” The words came out fast and Reece takes in a breath, too dry against his aching throat.

In his dreams, the blowback takes over, destroying every part of him that’s rational, good, and kind, until there’s nothing left. The others are there, staring at him like he’s an animal in a cage, like they don’t know who or what he is. James is there and James leaves him and he wakes up in a terror.

He’d been holding onto a lot of resentment lately. He just wanted to feel less alone in this, less like he was the only one sacrificing himself.

James was quiet when he finally answered. “It was an accident.”

Reece didn’t say anything, but he gave James’ hand a small encouraging squeeze.

“When I first came here, I didn’t know what I was. I had a room mate.” He paused. “Karim. We, er...we weren’t particularly careful with our gloves. We were idiots.”

He looked up at Reece and his expression was hard to read. “I found Tom. Everyone knew who he was. He helped me clean up my mess and I agreed to Work for him.”

A thousand questions ran through Reece’s thoughts, but his immediate concern was the dark look in James’ eyes. “James.”

“It’s okay. You know what it’s like.”

Reece tugged on James’ hand and pulled him in between his legs until he surrounded James completely. “I didn’t know you had a debt to him.”

“More of the guys do than you think,” James mumbled. “Jake’s addicted to Tom’s Luck Work. Chris got in a lot of trouble with the administration for making Luck charms. I killed my room mate. Now Casey has Betsy hung over his head.”

Reece kissed James’ face. “We’re all pretty screwed, huh?”

James thought it over, dipped his head down and pressed his lips against Reece’s shoulder. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I love you.”

Reece laughed, but it fell short when James didn’t smile back at him.

“I love you now, okay? But before I loved you, when Tom gave me the ultimatum, either you Worked or I would...” James swallowed and his voice came out in a creak. “That’s what he had on me. Karim. If you hadn’t Worked...that’s what he had on me.”

“You would have -” Reece was hyper aware of James’ naked hands settled on his hips.

“I’m not proud of it.” His eye flitted away from Reece’s face. “But yes.”

“And now?”

James’ head snapped back to look at Reece. “Now, I love you,” he said, the end of the sentence trailing off, the meaning incomplete and clear as a bell.

“But you still would.” He tried to make it sound less than accusatory, but he couldn’t quite nail the tone down. It came out half-broken, more hurt than Reece meant.

“Look, it’s different for you. He doesn’t have anything on you. And if I could find a way, any way around it, I would.” James looked right into Reece’s eyes, squeezed his sides with his fingertips. “But if I couldn’t...I’d hope you would understand, at least.”

Reece understood. Months ago, maybe he might not have. Before he’d been forced to Work, while he was still on the outskirts of the whole operation, maybe then he wouldn’t be able to forgive James of this. But now Reece had an equal stake. There was just as much for him to lose.

“He does have something on me.”

The fear on James’ face made Reece’s blood run cold.

“He’s got you,” he explained and James’ face went slack. He wrapped his fingers around the back of James’ neck, pulled him in close. “So I get it.”

James kissed him and kissed him and when they came up for air, Reece was crying.

“We’re totally fucked,” he said.

“But you’ve still got a few days,” James replied and yeah. He did.

**Author's Note:**

> curse work is magic done through hand-to-skin contact. there are lots of laws in place regulating workers and it's illegal to not wear gloves in public, worker or not. there are five main kinds of curse work: luck, transformation, memory, emotions, and death.
> 
> blowback is another term mentioned in this fic. using magic comes with the risk of blowback, which basically hurts the person in equal amounts and sometimes in a similar fashion to the work they did. 
> 
>  
> 
> [you can always yell at me for this on tumblr.](http://stereokink.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
